


Journey to the East: Morrowind

by MTibbs89



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Morrowind - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol, Ashlands, Camonna Tong, Cult, Cultists, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Journey to the East, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, Mystery, Other, Partial Nudity, Sixth House, Suspense, Thieves Guild, Violence, main quest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 121,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MTibbs89/pseuds/MTibbs89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In one night, Adanji loses her closest friend, fails a heist, and bears witness to the crumbling of her dreams. Little does she know that a carriage and a boat ride away, her life is about to become a lot harder. In her new home, she is faced with strange, often terrifying events, and at the center of it all, there is a mysterious prophecy. Will she be able to survive the madness with her soul intact?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Fateful Heist

**Author's Note:**

> This fiction is based on the events of the game's main quest and Thieves Guild quest, with several minor and major changes throughout. After the first 4 chapters, which I already have up on other sites, I intend to upload at least one chapter a month, but I am aiming for two a month. Beta read by: http://lastxlittlexwindmill.deviantart.com/ 
> 
> You may also view and download my work here: http://adanjithekhajiit.blogspot.com/2014/08/welcome.html
> 
> I greatly appreciate constructive criticism, so if you have any to offer, please do not hesitate to comment. 
> 
> Morrowind © Bethesda Softworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adanji and her adoptive brother stake out Palonyria's shop and break in for their initiation into the Thieves Guild. Things don't quite go according to plan.

_"Each event is preceded by Prophecy._

_But without the hero,_

_there is no Event."_

_-Zurin Arctus | the Underking_

**Prologue**

A Fateful Heist

 

              They had been watching the door for what felt like hours, and it was beginning to get dark. It would not be too long before Palonirya would be leaving her clothing shop, The Divine Elegance, sure to lock it up tightly behind her before heading on over to Green Emperor Way to meet with her not-so-secret love, Sergius Verus. It was a sort of weekly ritual for the Altmer and it was not uncommon for her to be out most of the night, sneaking back to her quaint home above her shop early in the morning, with the hopes that no one would notice. It just so happened that the seemingly unassuming beggars who wandered the streets _had_ noticed, and knew a great deal about the woman—a great deal about many things, in fact—and had been all too happy to divulge this information on her schedule for a modest sum of five septims.

              Adanji, the gray-furred Khajiit who had initially been waiting with bated breath, found herself getting bored. She sighed and shifted her weight, her legs tingling with pins and needles as the feeling began to come back into them.

              “Shouldn’t be long now,” her Argonian companion, Swims-In-Dark-Waters muttered, noticing her discomfort, “Unless she’s already left and you missed her.”

              The Khajiit let out a quick, short hiss, her version of a snort, “If you want to take watch, be my guest. We should switch soon anyway, lest we look too suspicious and the guards take note.” Most people wouldn’t notice it, unless they were paying close attention, but the Khajiit had a slight lisp. Like her Argonian family, she had developed the tendency to linger just a little bit longer on ‘s’ sounds than was normal.

              “The guards are always suspicious of Khajiit,” Swims noted, just before dropping his voice to a whisper and elbowing her sharply in the ribs, “Speaking of…” The flickering light of a torch announced the presence of a guard rounding the corner into the plaza and walking in their general direction.

              Adanji immediately averted her gaze from Palonirya’s shop and busied herself with appearing as innocent as possible, beginning a random conversation about mudcrabs with Swims  and only dropped the charade when the guard completely passed them by, having only given them a single, suspicious glance before continuing on his patrol.

              “I think he agrees with you,” Adanji said, feeling the guard would not have given a second thought to a pair of humans loitering in the street. “I hope she won’t be much longer. You sure Old Dran’s information was good?” No-Coins Draninus, or ‘Old Dran’ to pretty much everyone who knew him, was a down-on-his-luck Imperial who had once been in the Legion before taking an arrow in the knee—or so he claimed. He seemed a pleasant enough fellow, if a little crazy, but Adanji wasn’t sure how well he could be trusted, especially if his stories about having been a city guard held any truth.

              “Nnn, can’t say that I am, but at this point, I’ll take what information I can get.”

              “Oh. _Brilliant._ ”

              The Argonian said nothing. When Adanji got particularly sarcastic, which happened often, he would consider the conversation closed. If he did not, the two would wind up arguing for hours until nothing but dry insults remained. He sometimes wasn’t even sure how they were friends, what with their near-constant bickering at this point, but theirs was a bond that went back to their childhood, even further back than their desires to join the Thieves Guild. He remembered how his elder brother, Hides-His-Heart, would tell them such tales about the exploits of the legendary Gray Fox—the longtime leader of the guild. The faceless, elusive man with a talent for finding luck—or for avoiding misfortune.

              Hides-His-Heart had instilled such a hero worship for the man in their hearts that the two would often create games in which they pulled off impossible heists, always against equally impossible odds, and always together. In these games, they would usually give their treasure to the poor, a common ending in Hides-His-Heart’s tales of the Gray Fox, and keep only enough to afford shelter and decent food. Over the years, of course, such romanticism dwindled, and their games became aspirations, the ending only one in which they became absurdly rich or died trying. They still dreamed, of course, but since Hides had died such dreams seemed more like idle fantasy, convenient for nothing more than pushing them onward toward their goals.

              “There!” Adanji pulled Swims out of his reminiscing with the hissed word and a flick of her tail, drawing his attention to the shop. They both ducked down behind the nearby stacks of crates and barrels which served as the Market District’s storage as Palonirya left her shop, locking it securely behind her. Adanji shifted just enough so that she could peek over her cover and watch the Altmer to make sure she’d leave. The woman seemed rather shifty, glancing over her shoulder on the odd occasion. Despite how dark it was she didn’t even carry a lamp or a torch, such was her desire not to be noticed, but Adanji’s jade-green Khajiit eyes could clearly see in the darkness. The duo waited a few minutes after the Altmer was completely out of sight before making their way to The Divine Elegance, and Adanji crouched at the door while Swims kept watch.

              “Hurry…” Swims urged under his breath.

              Adanji glanced around, having just pulled out her lock picks, and saw no sign of guards. She understood his apprehension, though. Even if no patrol came by, there was always the competition. Swims and Adanji were not the only ones seeking entry into the guild, and while it was strictly forbidden for members to kill on a job, she wasn’t sure how well such rules were enforced—or even if they applied in this ‘entrance exam.’

            Of course, being murdered by a rival or caught by a watchman wasn’t the only thing that could go wrong. Palonirya could return unexpectedly, having forgotten something, or one of their rivals could very well have already been there and taken the treasure, at which point the two would fail the test and be forced to try again later—assuming there even was a later. Then they would have to go through all the trouble of finding the rendezvous point (which changed constantly) all over again to hear the details of the next test, which would be vague enough that they would need to pay Old Dran yet another five septims for more precise information. All in all, it felt as if there was a great deal riding on this one night and too much that could ruin everything.  

              The sound of a click snapped Adanji’s ears to attention as the final tumbler had been knocked into place and the door was unlocked. Smiling to herself, she put her fears aside and swung open the door as silently as she could, then she and Swims slid in swiftly and shut it behind them.

              “Any idea what these Quicksilver Boots look like?”

              “I think they’re made of glass?” He shrugged, “They’re supposed to be nearly weightless and give you unnatural speed.”

              “That should narrow it down…” Adanji stalked over to the counter and had a peek around, resisting the urge to simply pocket every piece of jewelry on display and leave. Like many high elves, Palonirya had a taste for the finer things and as such sold only the highest quality merchandise. The necklaces, rings and bracelets on display were clearly made of the finest metals, and the gems glittering in their sockets were flawless. They sparkled in the silvery moonlight filtering through the slats of the window blinds. Adanji glanced up at the little colored pinpricks of light, like stars, the gems refracted against the ceiling. Along the walls were mannequins adorned in striking, delicate silks imported from Summerset Isles. There were dresses that shimmered in the brightest blues, the deepest reds, and one that was a vivid peacock green. One particular dress that caught the Khajiit’s eye was one of black silk adorned with red velvet and trimmed with gold lace. She had seen similar dresses worn by noblewomen attending royal parties—not that she had ever been to such a party herself.

              “You want to try one on? I’m sure there’s plenty of time.” The Argonian had seen the hunger in Adanji’s eyes, and this was his way of pulling her back into reality.

              Adanji shook her head, “No, there really isn’t. Besides, my fur would cling to it and she would know we were here.”

              “Good. I don’t see the boots in here. We should keep looking.” He made his way toward the stairs which led to the shop owner’s private quarters then stopped, peering back at Adanji, “Don’t worry. If we pull this off you’ll be able to afford gowns like that in no time.” He smiled—as much as an Argonian could smile, with their reptilian muzzles—and continued up the stairs before Adanji could respond.

              She shrugged, pretending she didn’t honestly care about such finery, although she knew there was no fooling her old friend, and followed him up.

              Palonirya’s personal quarters, while compact, were luxuriously decorated. Tapestries covered the windows, casting the room in reddish shadows, dancing in the lantern light from the streets below. An intricately designed red and blue silk rug spanned half the room. Occupying its far corner, in front of the right window, was a bed adorned with a green velvet duvet. At the foot of the bed sat an antique chest and to its right, along the wall, was a wide, towering bookshelf filled with trinkets, bits and baubles. Various other furnishings filled out the remaining space in the room, leaving plenty of places where the boots could be hiding.

              “How much are you willing to bet the boots are in that chest?” Swims said.

              “Ha! I doubt it would be that easy…” Adanji strode to the chest, gripped its lid firmly, and pulled up—it did not budge. “Of course it’s locked.”

              “You did say it would not be easy.”

              “Shush.” Adanji pulled out her trusty lock picks and busied herself with the mechanism. She found that this particular lock was more difficult to pick, with extra tumblers to knock into place. After several tries, and almost as many bent or broken picks, Adanji successfully picked the lock and immediately opened the chest—only to find bolts of fabric. It was certainly high quality fabric, being a rare, Tyrian purple, and likely very expensive, but it was not at all what the thieves intended to filch.

              “Has it crossed your mind to, maybe, just steal as much from her shop as we can carry and fence it somewhere?” She was speaking rhetorically, of course. The Thieves Guild would offer them more riches than just one raid on a noblewoman’s belongings, and of course had access to a more reliable fence, but all of the items in the store were worth a small fortune on their own. The problem was that their test restricted them to stealing one specific item. The expression on Swims’ face clearly voiced that line of thought, “Never mind.”

              The Argonian shook his head, muttered something to himself, then launched into the many reasons it would be a bad thing to simply take what they wanted, and the many benefits of the Guild, even though Adanji had heard it all before, “…sure, these trinkets seem like a lot right now, but when we join the Guild they will point us in the direction of greener fields, or however it is that Imperial phrase goes,” Swims said with a wave of his hand, “And then we will be rich in no time. Even better, they will offer us protection—an entire family looking out for our best interests...” His eyes glazed over as they often did when he fantasized about the more romantic views of the guild. Having heard her friend’s ramblings many times before, she tuned him out as he continued on his tangent and they both renewed their search for the boots.

              Half an hour passed, Swims had finished rambling, and they had turned the room over with no sign of the Quicksilver Boots. The only thing they had accomplished was to leave the room appearing as if some mage had gone wild casting spells about the place, with items overturned, sacks emptied, crates tipped over. Adanji was surprised they had not met any competition yet and was beginning to worry that, perhaps, the boots had already been taken.

              “I don’t think the boots are up here,” she said, her chest growing tight with anxiety.

              “We should check the cellar, at least…” Swims started toward the bedroom door, then stopped and placed a reassuring hand on Adanji’s shoulder. “We should have plenty of time. If we don’t find the boots by the time the sun comes up we can leave.”

 ***

             “Always in the last place you look, isn’t it?”

            “You found them?” Adanji’s tufted ears perked up as the Argonian lifted the boots from a crate, brushing off the protective bits of straw. “Good!” She took them from him with little protest and examined them closely, heart thudding in excitement. They were indeed beautiful boots, a lovely shade of green, obtained only through a great deal of time and patience on the part of the smith who smelted and worked the malachite, purging it of any impurities. Silver inlays in the glass created a floral pattern on the shins, ivy vines sweeping back around the calves and ankles. The leather had been expertly crafted, intricate details pressed or stitched into it by skilled hands. Adanji assumed it must have been a collaborative work between Palonirya and some renowned smith. The only drawback was that the boots had been made for human or elf feet, and neither Adanji nor Swims could test them out—their enchantment would have been useful for outrunning guards.

            But if all went well, they wouldn’t need to.

            “We should leave now, before the elf gets back,” Adanji said, the tension finally getting to her. She had been having a bad feeling all night and now that they finally had the boots she felt the need to get out while they still could. All that remained was to get the boots to Armand Christophe, the Guild doyen who had given them the task, and their initiation would be complete.

            “We have plenty of time...” Swims started, but then quieted down and after a moment nodded, “But yes, we wouldn’t want to tempt fate, would we?” He took the boots and led the way back up the cellar stairs to the shop, and they both stopped short of the exit. Adanji’s fur stood on end.

 _“Xhuth!”_ Swims cursed under his breath.

            The windows were alight with the flickering yellow glow of torches. Someone was waiting for them.

            “Could be Armand...” Swims said quietly in an attempt to calm himself, missing his usual air of optimism.  

            Adanji doubted it. They were meant to meet Armand behind the Arena at midnight the next day. It would be too much to hope that this might just be competition—unless the other initiates were stupid enough to try sneaking around at night with lit torches. Palonirya wanted her trysts with her Imperial lover to be kept secret, so she would not give away her position with a torch either; she hadn’t even taken one with her when she left. Had to be guards.

            There was a sudden, loud bang as whoever stood outside rapped on the door. “Come out! We know you’re in there!”

            “Why can’t anything be easy, just once?” Adanji muttered under her breath, eyes darting around in search for escape. There was none; the entire back of Palonirya’s shop was a stone wall, but for one high, narrow window that, based on the lack of hinges, could not be swung open. The glass would be difficult to break at the angle from which they’d be attempting escape, and assuming they could even fit through such a narrow space, they would surely cut themselves to pieces.

            Adanji briefly thought about fleeing to Palonirya’s quarters and blockading themselves inside, but both of the room’s windows opened to a sheer drop into the lower streets that even a Khajiit acrobat would be unlikely to jump without injury. The blockade would only serve to irritate the guards and slow the pair’s imminent doom. The Khajiit heaved a frustrated, resigned sigh and approached the door. “Put the boots down,” she whispered over her shoulder before grasping the knob and wrenching it open.

            She flinched as she was met with a blade hovering inches from her face. “Is there a problem?” she squeaked, before attempting to regain control of her voice. The guard did not look amused. “Ahem, we were, ah, hired to keep watch of Palonirya’s shop for her. She’s out on business, so—”

            “Shut up and hand over the boots.”

            “What?” Adanji gazed over her shoulder to Swims, who shrugged—he had not put the boots down, but they were hidden behind his back. She glanced back at the guard and saw, peeking over his shoulder, the face of a smirking Bosmer woman—whom she recognized. She could not recall the Wood Elf’s name, but she had been at the meetup with Armand, and was competition. Or perhaps a spy in the Imperial Watch?

            “See? I told you they would be here.”

            “You—” Adanji could not finish her accusation, as Swims darted past her with the boots in hand. She barely heard him shouting over his shoulder for her to follow before he was caught, run through by one of the guards. His shirt darkened slowly around the blade before it was ripped out. His eyes widened in disbelief. He fell.

            At that moment it was as if time stopped, yet the world was spinning so fast it was all but a whirl before her eyes. In an instant she found herself on her knees, cradling her friend’s dying body in her arms. Crimson soaked her hands as she pressed her palms into the wound to stop the bleeding. She could feel his chest rising and falling—too quickly—then a shudder, and an unnatural stillness. Her heart felt like a stone. There was an immense, burning heat within her gut but the rest of her was bitter cold. Swims was…

            “On your feet!”

            Adanji stared blankly up at the guard. This was all just a terrible dream, right? She would wake up and Swims would be right there, ready to launch into another scheme to get them into the Guild. Everything felt so numb. Somewhere nearby, she could hear the Bosmer and one of the guards exchanging words in hushed tones, but nothing really seemed to register. Perhaps that just meant she was waking up, and the nightmare was ending?

            The guards hauled her roughly to her feet. She did not resist, instead shuffling right along with them as they led her down the streets, through the imposing gates out of the Market District, and out of the Imperial City, toward the prison. As they drew closer to the dreaded place, she became more aware that this was no dream. She was, in fact, being arrested, and that meant Swims truly was dead, or dying, his blood still spilling onto the street. Passersby would remark in disgust, but no one of import would mourn him. He would be dragged away at some point in the morning, unceremoniously dumped into an unmarked grave, and would be forgotten. His greatest dream of becoming a legend, like the Gray Fox, would never be realized. As the reality of the situation dawned on her, she finally broke down.

            She was unsure how long processing took; it could have been hours or minutes. She did not care. She just stumbled through their probing questions, staring blankly at the desk in front of her the whole time, only blinking occasionally when her vision blurred with tears. Why did Swims have to run? She might have been able to talk their way out of it, if he had remained calm. He was supposed to be the calm, confident one, after all. Even if she had not been able to talk the guards down, surely giving up without a fight would have been better than resisting and being met with a blade through the gut. There had been so much blood, she just couldn’t cope—couldn’t hold it all in. She had been so certain it had all been a dream, but now... Swims, her best friend and blood-brother was dead. She would never see him again. A lump formed in her throat, making it difficult to answer the guard-captain’s queries.

            The captain’s voice droned on and on, uncaring, as if nobody had died. There were the traditional questions, about family or friends who might have money and could bail her out—not for her sake, of course. If someone bailed her out, that meant extra money for the guards and the city, and compensation for Palonirya’s property damages. But there was no family that Adanji could speak of, and none of those she might call friends were any better off than she was, every last one of them either being beggars or petty thieves who were not backed by the Guild. There were still more questions after that, mostly regarding her background, all of which felt utterly pointless, and then finally they came to the questions of her crime, her past crimes, and her admission of guilt for their precious records.

            At the end of it all, she was led to her cell; a miniscule, dreary room at the back of the dungeon. The cell had few furnishings to speak of—just a scant pile of straw and a thin scrap of fabric which could barely be called a bed and a bucket in the corner—and a tiny, barred window high out of reach. The guard escorting her didn’t even give her a chance to cooperate, assuming she would not, and shoved her inside with enough force that she went sprawling to her knees, then slammed the iron-barred door behind her.

 ***

            It would be three days before Adanji could sleep. Mostly due to grief keeping her up at night and partially due to the catcalls and gibes of the other prisoners. One in particular, a rather irritating Dark Elf, seemed unable to shut up. The Dunmer made constant racist remarks to both her and other prisoners, and kept insisting that she would die in prison, attempting to frighten her with tales of guards taking the prisoners out to torture and rape them. It only ever got quiet when a guard would finally come by and yell at them to cut the chatter.

            Time seemed to stand still in the dungeon. Minutes passed like hours and hours like days. After a while her pain dulled and she was left simply feeling numb, only occasionally relapsing into sharp pangs of grief when she would dwell too long on what she had lost. She had been there almost two months when one morning armed guards woke her with a loud rap on her cell door, before swinging it open.

            “Come, prisoner, and don’t make any sudden moves,” the guard at her door commanded, one hand gripping the hilt of his blade. Were they releasing her? She wondered, but she saw clearly they intended to cuff her the moment she was out of her cell and lead her... was she to be executed, then? She stood, shaking, and slowly made her way to the waiting guards, heart pounding. She had assumed she wouldn’t mind dying, after the loss of her friend and only family. It would have been a release and maybe the next life—assuming there was one—would be better, but now that the guards were here... No, she was getting ahead of herself, wasn’t she? Execution was not a punishment for thieves, but for murderers. Then why did they put her in shackles as they made their way out of the prison? She had been incarcerated before, briefly, and when they released her it had never involved chains—just rough handling and holier-than-thou lectures.

            As they passed by his cell the loudmouth Dunmer made some final catcalls and shouted after her gleefully that she was going to die, which the guards neither confirmed nor denied as they exited the prison and slammed the door behind them, cutting the Dunmer’s cries short. An ear-shattering clap of thunder rolled across the sky when they got outside, and fat drops of rain instantly soaked Adanji’s spotted fur and pinged against the guards’ armor. Adanji smiled grimly; it was as if they sky was mourning for her, though she was certain no one else would.

            She was shocked and more than a little confused when the guards led her to a hidden passage out of the Prison’s courtyard walls, rather than through the main gates leading to the City, where executions were held publicly. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, suddenly suspicious. Perhaps she simply was not worth a public execution and they just wanted to get it over with, gutting her and dumping her into Lake Rumare? The guards did not answer her, nor did they draw their blades. Instead, they marched her along the wall, stopping at a waiting carriage—one that was clearly built for prisoner transport, as it had rough wooden slats forming a cramped cage and a heavy iron lock on the door.

            Were they moving her to another prison? That seemed the most obvious explanation but it made no sense. Prisoner transport was expensive, and usually reserved only for carrying the most infamous of bandits and murderers to their execution—usually _to_ the Imperial City, not away from it. Clearly the guards were up to something shifty—slave trade, perhaps? It was illegal in Cyrodiil but she had heard that in some provinces, the trade was still allowed and quite lucrative. Adanji leaned back against restraining hands with her full weight—not much considering her scrawny size—digging her claws into the ground, “I demand to know where you’re taking me!” It came out as a rather unthreatening squeak and the guards ignored her again, shoving her into the waiting carriage.

            It did not take Adanji long to realize that asking questions would get her nowhere, and decided it would be a bad idea to pester her captors who seemed to be of a foul disposition. Save for the spattering of rain and the occasional booming thunder or grumbling guard, the journey was a quiet one. The carriage rolled and bounced along the gravel roads which seemed to stretch for an eternity beyond the gloom.

            They stopped briefly at an inn in the middle of nowhere, where the tired horses were exchanged for fresh ones, as were the guards. Adanji noticed the leader of the old group handing a satchel over to one of the new guards and they exchanged hushed words before continuing on their way. She had no more luck getting information from this group than she had the previous one, but this time at least the leader had bothered to answer her with a rather final-sounding “That's privileged information.”

            The trip took the whole night and the better part of the following morning. Adanji had just managed to drift off into an uneasy sleep when she felt the carriage roll to a stop. The sound of gulls calling through the mist and waves crashing on the shore told the Khajiit they were near the ocean. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she saw they were outside the high stone walls of a city and saw a row of docks with huge ships and boats bobbing about in the water, causing the ships’ bells to ring softly through the air. This must be Anvil, the largest port city in Cyrodiil.

            Adanji watched closely as two of the guards met with a ship’s captain, straining her ears in a vain attempt to hear what they were whispering about. She noted that they kept glancing at her as they spoke. If she had been apprehensive before, now she felt a sense of dread. She flinched and tensed up when the door to her carriage swung open with a loud creak and two guards grabbed her by the arms and hauled her out and to her feet. She barely felt anymore the pain that had settled in her back and legs from the cramped space she’d been sitting in for the past few hours. She was too focused on what the guards were planning and the contents of the official-looking papers that were being handed off to the captain. She craned her neck over her shoulder, attempting to get a better view of those papers as the guards pushed her past the group. They led up a ramp and onto a battered, dingy ship she had hardly noticed until they took her down a hatch, cutting off her view.

            The sight of the brig erased the image of the papers from Adanji’s mind completely. There were dank, iron-barred cells along the walls, each filled with rather fetid men and women of various races, many of whom appeared sick and frail, and the place reeked of vomit and excrement. It would have been ill-lit were it not for all the cracks in the hull, giving Adanji a nice view of the turbulent black clouds outside and an uneasy feeling that the voyage ahead would kill her. She was led along the cells and put in the large one at the back, which gave her a single cellmate—a bald Dunmer with a scar over his right eye, who was snoring soundly in a corner.

            Not wishing to wake the Dunmer, as she had no way of knowing how dangerous he was, she slunk over to a relatively clean corner and sat down, wrapping her arms and tail around her knees and staring out of one of the cracks in the hull. It was oddly cool for late-Sun’s Height, and unusually rainy.

 ***

            The journey took a little over two weeks. While Adanji didn’t speak much, she had learned through overhearing snippets of conversation that her cellmate’s name was Jiub, and that he had been a freelance assassin that had botched his last contract, getting caught in the process. He had apparently been in the Imperial City’s prison about the same time as Adanji had, but she had simply not noticed him; he was quiet and polite for a supposed killer. Of all the things she could have learned, she had never been told where she was going. Prisoners came and went as they made stops at unknown locations, and because they were never brought enough food, many died midway through the voyage from malnourishment or dehydration—the latter of which Adanji and Jiub had been able to stave off by drinking rain water that poured through the cracks in the upper deck like a miniature waterfall during the heavier storms.

            The Khajiit’s last day on the ship saw the worst storm yet. They had been sailing smoothly for the first time for what seemed like less than an hour when, quite suddenly, the sky turned black and massive waves smashed into the ship at all sides, torrents of rain crashing down with the force of a battering ram. The ship lurched and the prisoners were tossed about. Jiub had managed to take hold of the bars of their cell, holding on for dear life, but Adanji was not so fortunate. While she had managed to dig her claws into the slick wooden floor on the first hit, the second lurch caught her mid-run to the bars and she was thrown backwards—clawing futilely at the air where she was certain she had seen Jiub’s outstretched hand. For an instant she seemed to float, weightless, until she slammed into the hull with a sickening crunch.

            All went black.


	2. Stranger in a Strange Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adanji is given a letter and a mysterious package to deliver to a strange man, said to be located in Balmora. Finding him is half the battle...

**_‘_ ** **_I_ ** _n the waning years of the Third Era of Tamriel, a prisoner born on a certain day_

_to uncertain parents was sent under guard, without explanation, to Morrowind,_

_ignorant of the role she was to play in that nation's history…’_

**Chapter One**

Stranger in a Strange Land

 

            _Adanji was floating. Somewhere in the distance, a part of her was aware of a great deal of movement and noise, but none of it seemed important. Before her stretched miles of an unknown, dead land. She saw a flash of a blue, transparent wall composed of magical energy trailing about an ominous volcano. Drums echoed from the heart of the volcano, an eerie, steady beat. Her feet touched the soft, ashy ground and the world began to shake, the sky overhead turning red as it was choked with ash._

_“Where am I?” Adanji wondered aloud._

_The land about her shifted and melted away, and she was taken to a lake rippling from raindrops, but when she peered up at the sky it was clear and filled with stars. A warm, yet powerful feminine voice entered the Khajiit’s thoughts and echoed around her, as if coming from all directions._

_"They have taken you from the Imperial City's prison,” the disembodied voice said, giving Adanji a clear picture of the White Gold Tower, the seat of the Empire, “First by carriage and now by boat.” She saw a ship crashing in violent waves, teetering precariously near high jagged rocks as waves tossed it about like some plaything, “To the East, to Morrowind.” Somehow, Adanji did not need to see the ashy land again to know that that was the place the voice spoke of, “Fear not, for I am watchful. You have been chosen."_

_Strange texts floated before Adanji’s eyes in an ancient language she could not decipher. A thousand voices whispered in the native Dunmer tongue, chanting endlessly. She caught snippets of words or entire phrases in Cyrodilic, though she did not understand their meaning. There was something about a Dreamer—sleeping, but not for long, and it filled her with a sense of foreboding. Somewhere, quiet as a breath or a thought, perhaps within Adanji’s own head, the words floated:_ Many fall, but one remains...

_Amongst the whispers she heard a more familiar voice. A flash of lightning showed her the eyeless face of Jiub, and she recoiled. “Wake up,” the eyeless Dunmer said in his deep, gravelly voice._

_Adanji did not understand._

_“We are here.” Jiub’s face began to contort into that of a monster, his black eye sockets growing menacingly wide. He took a step toward her, his voice becoming concerned, which only served to unnerve her,. “Why are you shaking?” Lightning flashed again, bright enough to blind the Khajiit and she swam for a moment in darkness. “Are you ok? Wake up!”_

 

            Adanji’s eyes snapped wide open and she flinched—both at the assailing brightness from the sun peeking through the deck gaps directly into her eyes, and at the sight of the man whom she had only just seen as a disfigured monster. That had only been a stupid dream, she firmly reminded herself, shakily taking Jiub’s outstretched hand.

            “Stand up,” he said gently as he helped her to her feet, “There you go.” He caught Adanji by the shoulders, steadying her as her legs threatened to give way. It was as if her body had suddenly realized the amount of pain she was in from smashing into the bulkhead, probably more than once. “You were dreaming,” he said helpfully.

            “Thanks,” she mumbled, placing a palm against her head as if the pressure would chase away her impending headache.

            “What’s your name?”

            She had to think about it—she had almost blurted out something completely wrong; a name that started with an ‘I.’ That couldn’t be a good sign. “Nnnn...” She shook her head firmly. “Adanji.” She paused as memories came rushing back, “Didn’t I tell you that already?”

                “Just making sure youremembered. You were pretty out of it. Not even last night’s storm could wake you.” He furrowed his brow in apparent concern. “I heard them say we’ve reached Morrowind. I’m sure they’ll let us go.”

                “What?!” Adanji blurted, too loudly as it upset her headache. Did he say Morrowind? Wasn’t that what the dream-lady had just told her? She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Likely she had simply overheard something about Morrowind in her sleep and it had wormed its way into the puzzling dream—which had presumably been brought on by brain damage. She had hit her head pretty hard.

               “Quiet,” Jiub said. Had she been mumbling? “Here comes the guard.”

                Adanji followed Jiub’s gaze and saw, just as the Dunmer had said, a guard making his way to their cell, keys jangling in hand. He cautioned the two to stand back as he swung open their door, cuffed Adanji, and led her out of her cell, leaving Jiub behind. She heard a faint “Good luck,” from the Dark Elf before his words were drowned out by the other prisoners’ customary hollering and bar-shaking racket they made whenever a prisoner was leaving as she was led up to the hatch and out onto the deck.

                It seemed blindingly bright outside after having been in the dim brig for two solid weeks, though the morning sun was mostly covered by light gray clouds, only occasionally peeking out through gaps as they passed by. A heavy mist blanketed the area, but beyond it Adanji could just make out thick, moss-covered trees and murky green water rising above their trunks. An eerie cry from some unknown beast resounded through the swamp, echoed moments later from miles away—likely a reply from a friend-beast. Before Adanji could even begin to puzzle out what the creatures might be, she was taken firmly by the arm and pushed down the ramp to the dock by an impatient guard. He marched her wordlessly to the small building up ahead—the first of many small buildings which formed what was probably a fishing village.

            When Adanji and her pushy escort entered the dilapidated building they seemed to have interrupted a conversation.

               “... Prisoner arrived on Sixteen of Last Seed, Third Era, Four-Twenty-Seven—write that down, will you?” an old Breton was saying in a piercing voice to a young Imperial who was hunched over a number of documents. He appeared to be torn equally between reading the information on said papers and writing an official letter. The old man glanced up at the intruders mid-sentence, and his face became stern. “You’re late!” He directed the comment at Adanji, “You were supposed to be here yesterday—Fifteen of Last Seed, not Sixteen!”

               Adanji stared at him blankly. While the lines around his mouth indicated he was more accustomed to smirking, his lips were currently pursed. When he seemed uninterested in continuing his conversation without some admittance to her terrible crime of tardiness she said, with no small amount of sarcasm, “I’m . . . Sorry?” As if she could help the weather, or the schedule of her jailors. The Breton seemed pleased at her apology despite the lack of sincerity.

                “Yes-yes, well. We’ve been expecting you. The Emperor doesn’t appreciate tardiness in any of his subjects. It’s rude.” This was followed by another long silence and Adanji was about to apologize again when the guard at her side cleared his throat impatiently. “Yes. Right. Well. You will have to be recorded before you are officially released—”

               “You don’t have my information already?” Adanji interrupted. She had always assumed the Imperials were more organized than this; they just loved their records. Then there was that word. Adanji had hardly noticed it at first, with everything on her mind. _Released?_  It gave her a small taste of hope and piled on a heaping dose of curiosity and suspicion. There had to be a catch. Maybe it was exile? But that made no sense, considering her crime. Exile was reserved for special cases, often in lieu of execution. And why Morrowind, of all places? It seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go through for a petty thief.

              The Breton gawked for a moment, apparently taken aback, then guffawed. Adanji felt she was missing the joke. “Yes-yes-yes!” he said, “Of course we do. But you never know when incompetent guards will muck things up.” This provoked the guard to clear his throat again, this time indignantly, and Adanji smirked a little. “No offense of course. Now.” He turned his gaze on Adanji, “We’ll start with the name—I’ll assume you at least know that much. I won’t assume you know how to spell it-”

            “Adanji,” she cut in, tempted to spell it out for the man before firmly telling herself not to let him rile her. Nobles and Imperial officials were never worth the trouble.

            “That’s it? No surname?”

            “The Argonians who raised me had no use for surnames,” Adanji said.

“Orphan, then?” He tutted. Adanji cocked her head, raising her jaw a bit defiantly, but didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Of course she knew that technically, she counted as one, but she had never really felt abandoned. Swims and Hides had never let her—they had been all the family she had needed. Now, though… “I see. Street urchins always seem to find trouble.” When Adanji still refused to respond, he continued. “Profession? I’m afraid ‘beggar’ doesn’t count.”

            “I’m a thief.” Adanji said flatly. She was careful to keep the note pride out of her voice. Certainly stealing was illegal and one should take no pride in being a criminal, but it took a certain level of skill to be an effective thief. Then again, she thought bitterly, if she had had any real skill, she and Swims would be in the Guild right now.

            “Oh, well that makes everything much better! Such a respectable line of work! You deserve a medal.” The Breton knew sarcasm, too, Adanji could see. “Yes. Thief.” He snorted derisively, “Are you getting all of this, Attrebus?” he snapped at the Imperial, who nodded stiffly as he checked and re-checked the papers, scanning for any discrepancies between the documents that had been sent along with Adanji and the official release papers he was busily filling out. “Good-good. The letter that preceded you mentioned you were born under a certain sign. What would that be?”

            Adanji had been born sometime in the month of Evening Star, as deduced by Hides-His-Heart shortly after taking her in. Based on her form—more feline than some of the other Khajiit she had seen in the Imperial City, with her large, furry feet (‘beast legs’ as some called them) and retractable claws, a new Masser and a waning Secunda had smiled down on her birth. That was eighteen years ago, though she often felt much older. She gave him the relevant information, though she failed to see how her birth sign was important, or any of his business.

            “A thief born under the sign of The Thief? Will wonders never cease?”

            _Will your terrible attempts at humor?_ Adanji wondered, quickly tiring of the man. Seeming to notice her ire— possibly due to her curled lip and flattened ears—the Breton rattled off a number of other questions, which became more inane by the minute. Adanji was convinced most of them had nothing to do with her release papers and were just an attempt to waste her time because he _could_.

“Fishy stick?” the Breton finally asked after about fifty questions.

            “What?”

             “Good,” he said, ignoring Adanji’s bemused expression as he took the documents from Attrebus, who had stopped writing some time ago, “Before I stamp these papers, make sure this information is correct. Ah, you _can_ read, can’t you?”

            Adanji snatched the documents from the old man and leafed through them—few of the questions he’d asked were in the documents, just as Adanji had suspected. They held only basic, relevant information such as her age, gender, appearance, current occupation and notes on her criminal record, which was fairly substantial, but not particularly noteworthy. She shoved them back at the man irritably, muttering, “They’re correct.”

            He smiled to himself as he stamped the papers, “Show your papers to the Captain when you exit to get your release fee.” He almost sounded upset that his game was over when he folded the papers up and handed them back to Adanji. She tried sliding them into her pocket, but the shackles got in the way. She sighed. She had almost forgotten about them.

“Here, let me get those for you.” The guard who had brought her in and had, until then, been silent took her by the wrist and removed her shackles. Though they hadn’t been on long enough to chafe, Adanji instinctively rubbed her wrists. “Continue through to the next building, the Captain’s waiting for you there.”

In the next room, which was conveniently unguarded, Adanji was distracted by the most marvelous aroma; food. It was just bread and cheese, piled up on the table. It was for the guards, no doubt, but Adanji could no longer ignore the rumbling in her stomach. Glancing around to make sure she was really alone, she snatched up a slice of bread and gulped it down. She was far from sated, but at least the edge had been taken off.

Now she noticed an assortment of miscellaneous items which would be worth a small fortune; books, candlesticks, a dagger, intricately designed dishes and real silverware. There was even a set of lock picks setting atop a note. She pictured herself trying to casually stroll by the guards, her clothing bulging with plates, forks, and knives, that bottle of fine liquor stuffed into her pocket, ambling towards the nearest merchant. The image was so absurd she would have laughed, were she in a better mood. She ignored her desire to pocket everything of value and instead slid a single lock pick into the folds of her trousers. That should be inconspicuous enough, she reasoned, and could prove useful.

            As the guard had mentioned, the Captain was in another building, attached to the Census and Excise Office by an unpretentious, walled-in courtyard and to the right when Adanji stepped outside. She was about to enter the building when, to her left, a glimmer caught her eye. At the bottom of a rain-filled barrel beside the door was a ring, glinting in the light. Curious, she reached into the barrel and pulled it out—it was warm to the touch, despite having been in frigid water, and seemed to vibrate and glow when she slid it on. _It must be enchanted,_ she thought before taking it off. She slipped it into her pocket, not wishing the Captain to see it and confiscate it—if it was enchanted it was probably valuable. Nine only knew she could use the money.

Before entering the smaller building of the Census and Excise office, she took a moment to wash up her arms and her face in the barrel, figuring it would look a bit suspicious to have one arm drenched in water. It did nothing for her ragged clothing and little for the smell, but it would have to do until she could get a proper bath.

The Captain, a pale man in highly-polished armor, was waiting at an oak desk and making a show of looking busy. He glanced up as she entered, his impossibly smooth, aristocratic face twisting unpleasantly, and he pinched his nose. Adanji ignored his reaction and held out the documents she had been given. “I think I was supposed to show these to you.”

            “Let me see,” he said, taking the documents and glancing over them, occasionally nodding to himself. “Adanji, huh? Word of your arrival only reached me yesterday. I’m Sellus Gravius, here to welcome you to Morrowind.”

            “About that,” she interrupted before the Imperial could say anything else, “Why am I here? Nobody’s told me anything useful so far and I’m pretty sure there must have been a mix up somewhere.”

            “I don’t know why you’re here,” Sellus said before she could finish, “Or why you were released from prison, but your authorization comes directly from Emperor Uriel Septim VII himself, and I don’t need to know any more than that.” He busied himself with stacking Adanji’s identification papers with various other documents and slipping them into a leather satchel on his desk. His tone was clipped and the words sounded rehearsed, as though he had anticipated this line of questioning and prepared appropriate responses so he could get her out of his well-oiled hair as quickly as possible.

            “Uriel Septim?” Adanji said skeptically, “The Emperor?” Surely this was a joke.

            “Uriel Septim _VII,_ ” Sellus corrected, before adding “The Emperor. According to my instructions, he _personally_ ordered your release from prison and subsequent transport here. It’s all very mysterious, and _none of my business_ ,” he said pointedly. Adanji felt that while it was none of the Captain’s business, it most certainly was _her_ business if what the Emperor had planned involved her in any way—and clearly it did, which she thought made no sense. No. There must have been some misunderstanding, however well-planned Sellus’ responses might be.

            “When you leave this office you’re a free woman,” The Captain said as Adanji mulled over this new information, “But before you go I have instructions on your duties; instructions from the Emperor. It would be wise to pay attention.”

            _Duties? What duties?_ Adanji only nodded slowly. She was sure she wanted no part of this, freedom or no, but she was also certain that she wanted answers, and cooperating—if only for now—was likely the only way to get them.

            “This package,” He indicated the contents of the satchel, “Came with the news of your arrival. You are to take it to Caius Cosades, said to be located in the town of Balmora. Ask for him at the South Wall Cornerclub; they should be able to tell you more. Find him, and serve him as you would the Emperor himself.” Adanji almost scoffed at this notion, but thought it wise not to—even so, the Captain raised a disapproving brow at her, as if he had sensed her stifled reaction. He then produced a letter which had been near the stack of papers before he’d shoved them into the satchel. It was in a crisp envelope sealed with the signet of the Emperor. He held it out to her after a slight moment of hesitation, as if he himself were questioning the Emperor’s judgment, “I also have this letter for you, and a disbursal to your name.”

He produced, from his pocket, a meager sack of coins which felt heavy to Adanji as she took it with far more interest than she did the letter. She bounced it in her hand, feeling a faint glimmer of delight at the sound of coin clinking against coin. This was probably not much to a noble or even a commoner, but Adanji was certain she had never carried this much gold in her life. Her glee at the minor revelation was diminished when she thought of Swims. “How do I reach Balmora?” she asked in a failed attempt to distract herself as she pocketed the gold.

“It’s north of Seyda Neen.” Before Adanji could ask, he added, “That’s where we are. You can get there on foot if you take the road out of town and follow the signs, or, if you’d rather not get torn apart by the local vermin, you can take a silt strider.” At the blank stare Adanji gave him, he explained, “It’s a giant bug the locals use for transportation. Perfectly safe. There’s one just outside town. It’ll be on your right as you leave—you can’t miss it.”

            The Khajiit gaped at Sellus, brow creasing, then at the door, then at the satchel he’d given her and the letter still clutched tightly in her hand. She had many questions; she wasn’t quite sure what to do, and was certain she knew little—if anything—about Morrowind. Everything she did know she’d been taught by Hides and Swims, or had learned through overhearing rumors and snippets of conversation. The Imperial City, as Cyrodiil’s capital and seat of the Empire, had its fair share of visitors from other lands, so Adanji’s knowledge pool was not insignificant, but there was much she did not know. There was much myth to sift from truth, and the simple fact that Morrowind itself was generally a place of mystery. The local Dunmer were as xenophobic as a people could come, and culturally closed off from the rest of Tamriel.

            “You’ll be fine,” Sellus said, sensing Adanji’s distress, though he didn’t sound particularly sincere. “Just read the letter and do whatever it says.” He reluctantly placed a hand on her shoulder and nudged her outside, flicked his hand disgustedly as if he had just handled a piece of dung, then shut the door behind her with a resounding _click_.

            The Khajiit blinked slowly, a sort of stunned look plastered on her face. It was at this point that, without all the distractions and peculiar goings-on, she remembered how much her body ached from having been tossed about on the ship and unsteadily plopped down on a bench that sat just outside the office door. She took a moment to digest everything she’d just been told, gazing ahead at the modest village in the process.

Seyda Neen, as it was called, possessed a few buildings of Imperial architecture—complete with stone foundations, sturdy wooden frames and some sort of yellowish plaster making up the outer walls. Several dingy, one-room shacks of rotten wood and thatched roofs were scattered about on the outskirts, near the sea. The shacks closest to the shore had barnacles clustered on them up to half a meter from the ground, indicating the occasional flood during high tides.

The village possessed a single store, left of the muddy path leading from the Census office, and a towering stone lighthouse on the shore, back near the docks. That was all there was to the village, Adanji realized; three major buildings and peoples’ rickety homes. Everything else was swamp, or marsh. Adanji couldn’t quite remember the difference. There was a certain beauty to it, however—huge bald cypress trees shooting up from the murky green water, glowing blue draggle-tail sprouting from ponds between floating slime and lily pads. There was a near-constant chorus of various frogs, toads and insects. The swamp stretched for miles, from what Adanji could see, and the air was thick with a sweet, moist smell she could not place, drowning out even the scent of fish. Swims would have enjoyed it here, his people hailing from Black Marsh. He had always wanted to see his homeland.

            She sighed and dug in her pockets, pulling out the ring and examining it for a moment before putting it back on, taking comfort in the warmth that briefly spread through her body before producing the letter she had been given. She ran a claw absently over the seal which bore a jagged dragon whose wings and tail formed the shape of a diamond—it was the same symbol that was pressed into one side of septims. She hesitated for a long moment then finally ripped into the envelope, flipping open the letter written in pompously loopy hand, and read:

 

     _‘You have been given these directions and a package of documents. Do not show them to anyone. Do not attempt to read the documents in the package. The package has been sealed, and your tampering will be discovered and punished._

_Follow these directions._

_Proceed to the town of Balmora inVvardenfell District. Report to a man named Caius Cosades. He will be your superior and patron; you will follow his orders. His residence is not known, but ask at the cornerclub called "South Wall". People there will know where to find Caius Cosades. When you report to Caius Cosades, deliver the package of documents to him, and wait for further orders._

_Remember. You owe your life and freedom to the Emperor. Serve him well, and you will be rewarded. Betray him, and you will suffer the fate of all traitors._

_I have the honor to prepare this at the direction of his Most Sovereign Majesty the EmperorUriel Septim,_

_Glabrio Bellienus_

_Personal Secretary to the Emperor’_

   

   

            That was it? No explanation as to _why_ she had been chosen, or how the Emperor had even known of her? No details on just what his esteemed Highness or his lackeys wanted her to do? She flipped the letter over, hoping there might be more on the back. Nothing. She held it up to the sky, dimly hoping the light might reveal some secret message written in magical ink. Though she hadn’t really expected this to work, she was still disappointed when it didn’t; all she had accomplished was to look like an idiot and draw some icy stares from the locals.

Flustered, she read and reread the letter until she had the thing memorized, her ire growing with each pass. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting; she knew that no matter how many times she scanned the letter or how closely she scrutinized each word, nothing new would magically appear on the paper, and there was nothing more for her to do but sit and fume, strongly desiring to tear the letter to shreds and pretend she had never seen it. Meanwhile, the package for Caius seemed to call to her from its place in her satchel, and Adanji’s burning curiosity seemed to burst into a raging inferno. If she could get into that package, she thought, she might have all the answers at her fingertips. But the letter had warned her not to, and she had no way of knowing that her tampering would not go unnoticed. Self-preservation instincts won out over curiosity and she returned to her stubborn fuming.

            ‘ _You owe your life and freedom to the Emperor,’_ she thought bitterly. _Right._ It wasn’t as though she had made him free her. It was his damned decision to pull her out of prison—he could have let her sit and rot and she would have been happy to. It wasn’t as though she had anything else to do. She thought again of Swims. He would have wanted her to do this, she thought. He would have relished the mystery and the possibility of glory and riches. If he were alive, she mused, she would have liked to embark on such a journey with him. _No,_ she corrected herself, _I would have wished to stay in the Imperial City, where it is safe, and he would have dragged me along anyway._

            ‘ _Serve him well and you will be rewarded.’_ She rolled her eyes. It wasn’t as though they could give her what she desired, or punish her more than she already had been. A tiny, odd sort of half-smile pulled at the corner of her lips and she almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of that line of thought. _Enough self-pity,_ Swims would have said, _You have your life, and your dreams—chase them and forget the rest_. She sobered at the thought and her ears lowered, almost flat against her head. Her dreams would mean a lot more with him here.

***

            It was noon. Adanji had been sitting and moping for long enough. Pulling the coin purse from her pocket, she counted the money she had been given—eighty-seven septims. An odd number, but it was more than enough for some food which, despite her small snack in the Census and Excise office, she desperately needed, and transportation. She would also need clothing, she mused, peering down at the tattered, moldy rags she wore, which smelled of a sewer. Cleanliness was not a luxury commonly afforded to prisoners—about as rare as a decent meal—and she had been wearing the same rags since her imprisonment.

            After a quick stop at Arrille’s Tradehouse, wherein she had received a number of dirty looks, Adanji had bought and changed into dry, clean clothes—simple brown pants and a loose, off-white shirt—and had eaten her fill for the first time she could remember. The meal had consisted of a sweet, tender meat from something called a Nix-hound,  an ash-yam, and Mazte—a cheap, alcoholic brew.

Now it was time to find Caius Cosades.

            Crossing the rickety wooden bridge out of town and turning to her right, she immediately saw what Sellus had meant. The silt strider, which resembled an enormous, armored flea with legs like giant bamboo shafts, was unmissable. A bored-looking Dunmer was sitting on a stool at the top of a ramp which led to the creatures back. As Adanji advanced, the silt strider let out a loud, long cry which echoed through the swamp and she realized it was the same creature which she had heard earlier that morning on the ship. She never would have imagined a noise like that coming from a bug, no matter how big it was.

            “Where to?” the caravaner asked, fixing the Khajiit with her sharp red gaze. She obviously wasn’t the slightest bit awed by the alien creature next to her. Of course, to her, it was as common a sight as a dog was to Adanji.

            “Balmora,” Adanji said, pulling herself together.

            “That’ll be fifteen drakes.”

            Adanji stared.

            “That’s septims to you foreigners,” she said.

            “Ah.” Adanji counted out her remaining coin and handed her the requested amount. The caravaner helped her into the compartment that had been hollowed out of the creature’s shell, and the Khajiit got a nasty whiff of the stench that accompanied a creature’s insides.

            “You’ll get used to it.” The Dunmer said, noticing her wrinkled nose.

            At least the compartment wasn’t enclosed, Adanji thought, so a steady breeze could wash away the bulk of the stench. She sat on a crate which had been covered with pillows and a blanket to create a makeshift, stable seat. She was told she could store her belongings in it before they departed. She watched with immense interest as the caravaner manipulated the beast’s exposed organs, pushing on tendons to make the beast turn and face the north, pulling others to make it walk forward. The ride was amazingly smooth. No jarring or bouncing that accompanied a carriage ride. It was also fast which, given the length of its legs, really shouldn’t have been surprising; a single stride could carry it ten feet.

            The caravaner—named Darvame Hleran—turned out to be quite personable, as Adanji discovered during the trip. She had ensured the Khajiit that the silt strider felt no pain from the manipulation of its organs, and she was delighted to answer any other questions Adanji had. She soon learned from the woman that they were in Vvardenfell—the letter had mentioned the same thing, briefly—which was a district of Morrowind, taking up about a third of the province. It was cut off from the mainland by wide rivers and open sea. The volcano at the center of the island was called Red Mountain and harbored deep secrets and horrible dangers that were kept in check by a magical barrier called the Ghostfence. Lately, Vvardenfell was experiencing a string of mysterious afflictions, with people going missing and others experiencing insomnia and going mad, eventually harming themselves or others around them.  Darvame thought these unsettling events had something to do with Red Mountain and something called the Blight.

            “That’s Balmora, just up ahead.” Darvame said before Adanji could ask anything else.

            Adanji followed her gaze and saw, through the trees, a walled city that sat partially atop a hill that ascended sharply into the mountains. At the base of the hill the city was divided in half by a river, which was spanned by three stone bridges and the north and south walls. All the buildings in Balmora were made of packed mud and looked sturdy enough to withstand a blast from Red Mountain. Despite the practical, plain appearance of the buildings and the overall grayness, there was something about Balmora that was beautiful. There were the contours of the buildings against the stark blue sky and the way in which the buildings were arranged, tall and short, thin and wide, sloping rooftops contrasting level ones. There were trees, bright yellow banners and flickering, paper lanterns giving the otherwise gray city splashes of color.

            Just outside the South Gate, there was a moderate, fenced in area containing unusual creatures. They had two fat legs, two tiny arms, large heads and long, thick tails. They had a reptilian appearance, with their thick, leathery skin. Despite their size and sharp, jagged teeth, they looked friendly, with strange, goofy smiles. Adanji watched one such creature being led to the pin, a saddle and giant pack strapped to its back. The creature bumped its owner’s arm playfully, seeming to exert little to no effort in nearly toppling the man, who laughed it off and fondly rubbed the creature behind its eye ridges.

            “Those are guar,” Darvame said with a wide grin, following Adanji’s gaze, “Far more useful and loyal than those horses you Westers are so fond of, and much smarter than they look. That’s High Town, where only the rich and prosperous live,” she pointed to the portion of the city that sat atop the hill, “At its base is the Commercial District, where you’ll find a few inns such as the Lucky Lockup, the guild halls, and your average shops. Across the Odai River to the east is Labor Town. Avoid it at all costs—you’ll find nothing but thieves and thugs there, save maybe for the houses right along the river where the commoners live.”

            “Where can I find South Wall?” Adanji asked, deciding not to mention her own profession as a thief.

            “That’s deep in Labor Town. Whatever business you think you have there, forget it. Like I said, it’s dangerous territory.”

            “I’ll keep that in mind. . .” Adanji said absently, reaching into her pocket and gripping her already crumpled letter. It wasn’t as if she really wanted to go anyway, but it was as if there was a miniature Swims in her head telling her to follow the scent of adventure and, better yet, coin. Plus, the letter had warned her of the possible consequences if she did not do as it said.

 

            Adanji said her goodbyes to the caravaner as she was dropped off at a dock which had been built into the southern wall for silt strider passengers, with stairs leading down into the city. As she made it down the stairs, she saw a male Dunmer loitering outside the building directly in front of her. He glowered as she approached and she got a bad feeling about him. Still, she needed better directions to South Wall than Darvame had given her. “Excuse me… ”

            “Whadda ya want, rug?” the Dunmer growled.

            Adanji flexed her claws but, with considerable effort, ignored the racial slur, “Where can I find South Wall?”

            “Yeh jus’ got off it, s’wit.”

            Adanji glanced over her shoulder at the city wall, then back at the man who, if possible, narrowed his eyes further, “I meant the cornerclub.”

            “It’s in Labor Town. Now, I’ve answered enough o’ yer questions, outlander. If ya don’ know where yer goin’, yeh should leave.” He placed a hand threateningly on the hilt of a gleaming, serrated dagger at his hip.

            “Right. Thanks,” Adanji said, trying to keep her voice even. She thought it wise to give this man his space—were he not armed she might not have been so tolerant. Maybe. She quickly left the area, determined to find South Wall and put distance between herself and the Dunmer. She could swear she heard him muttering something about ‘stupid beasts’ and ‘should all be skinned alive.’ That sort of talk ruffled her fur, but the last thing she needed was to get herself into trouble in a land with a distinct bias against ‘outlanders.’

She crossed the river towards Labor Town, where the docks were busy with fishermen and commoners going about their day-to-day. The dock workers carried crates or hauled in netfulls of fish from the Odai. Children played near the water, skipping stones and giggling while their parents kept watch. Some local passersby scowled at the noise.

The buildings here were tightly packed and smaller than the ones to the west, making Adanji feel claustrophobic. As a piece of garbage flew by, carried on the wind, she was reminded of the Waterfront back in the Imperial City. That place had been a dump, too, only Labor Town had nicer, sturdier houses as opposed to the run-down shacks in which the beggars and retired old sailors of the Waterfront had occasionally taken up residence.

            She followed the river south to the wall, then followed that east and began her search there. It didn’t take long; she passed several buildings and slipped through a few dark alleys, always keeping as close to the southern wall as possible, and eventually stumbled upon the South Wall cornerclub, its battered sign swaying in the breeze. As she neared, she had the eerie feeling that she was being watched.

            When Adanji entered the building, she heard muffled voices around the bend, which she followed down a hallway—at the end of which she saw another brown-furred, stripy Khajiit with a broad, flat face, poring over documents which she hurriedly covered at Adanji’s approach.

            “What does it want?”

            “I need information,” Adanji started, ignoring the other’s suspicious activity.

            “Sss, Habasi is busy. Go ask downstairs, at the bar,” she said, waving a hand dismissively.  

            Well, Adanji thought, at least it was more than the Dunmer had given her. She followed Habasi’s advice and continued down the hall, around a bend and down a ramp into a dimly-lit basement that smelled of alcohol and smoke—the latter of which caused her nose to wrinkle. She could clearly see it billowing up from pipes smoked by various men sitting at the bar, or at an eclectic assortment of worn tables, playing cards or shell games. Off in a dark corner, she could see a Khajiit chortling at something the Bosmer sitting across from her said, then placing her hand on his. In another corner, a withered Argonian was busily reading, apparently oblivious to the rest of the world. Two scantily-clad women—a curvy Nord and a lithe Bosmer—danced seductively in the back of the room on a cramped stage, where most of the men’s eyes lingered.

            This was not a place for respectable men and women; there was not a noble or a guard to be seen. Adanji liked it.

            She slunk to the bar and sat down, clearing her throat to get the attention of the Breton behind it who resembled a well-dressed, balding weasel. He had, until then, ignored her. He quirked a brow at the newcomer, clearly suspicious of her intent.

            “Haven’t seen you around these parts,” he said in a nasally voice, “What can I get you?”

            “I was told to f—” Adanji paused, then amended, “I am looking for a man named Caius Cosades.”

            The bartender’s eyebrows shot straight up, almost disappearing into his hairline, and the rest of the den went quiet—relatively. Many eyes fell on Adanji and she shifted in her seat. The Breton hastily regained his composure. “And what do you want with that old sugar-tooth?”

            But before Adanji could even begin to come up with some plausible explanation, she was interrupted by a flood of rumors.

            “That old nutter’s been here forever, since before the Districts was reorganized. He’ll go off sometimes, but always comes back.” A bald, flat-faced Imperial said.

            “He’s been in some trouble, but it’s not long and he’s off, scot-free— _knows people_ or something,” a pinched-nosed Bosmer added from the corner.

            “He’s a veteran, I think—has friends over at Fort Moonmoth,” said another.

            “That’s gotta be useful. Turn a blind eye to his sugar problem, bribe the other guards to do the same,” noted the Bosmer.

            “That’s the thing, I don’t think he _has_ a sugar problem. Eyes‘re too clear, an’ that much stink on ‘im? He shouldn’t be able to walk,” said the bald Imperial.

            “That old gray-hair _gobbles_ the sugar like scuttle! It doesn’t affect him? That’s just the mark of a long-time user,” a tawny-furred Khajiit put in helpfully.

            “Don’t know where he gets the money for it,” a female Nord with red hair said, “Can’t be legal. Probably—”

            “I don’t know what your business is with him,” the elderly, robed Argonian interrupted, peering over his book, “But be careful. Caius Cosades may look like a pathetic old smoothskin, but don’t judge by appearances.” He cast a piercing gaze about the room, “Some people made that mistake not so long ago. They aren’t with us anymore.”

            That put an abrupt end to all the gossip, and people went back to their drinking and gambling as if the man had never been mentioned. The bartender shook his head slowly, “There you have it. You really want to know where to find the old man, go ask Bacola Closcius, the owner. He’ll know.”

            “Where is he?”

            “Around,” the Breton said flatly, “You want more than that, buy a drink.”

 

With the help of the old Argonian, Adanji was able to locate Bacola, who was upstairs in his quarters. She knocked on the door and he answered gruffly, before noticing that he didn’t recognize her. “Who are you?” Then, “Doesn’t matter. What can I do for you?”

“I was told you know where I can find Caius Cosades.”

“Ah.” He peered around uncomfortably, scratching his scruffy chin as if deep in thought, “Well if they told you that, I suppose there’s no harm in telling. That or they got impatient with you and were hoping I’d throw you out—any one of them could’ve told you of course, but...” He continued rambling for a while. “Why do you want him, anyway?”

“I have a delivery for him—a package.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced. In fact, he looked bored enough that he might just close the door in her face. “That all?”

Adanji scratched her head, wondering how much she should say, “I’m not sure I should tell you that, but... I got a letter telling me to find Caius Cosades and that I should ask for him at South Wall.”

He nodded, “Well then, that must mean it’s important. Or you’re just here to off him—ha! Good luck with that. Go back downstairs and leave South Wall, take the stairs up immediately on your right, then turn left. His’ll be the last house you see, all the way at the end.”

“Thank you.” Adanji said, at last meaning it. The sun was setting by the time she left. She followed Bacola’s directions to a squat building that appeared even more run-down than the rest of Labor Town. She could smell the skooma thick on the air before she even reached his door. She knocked. There was a scuffling sound, wheezing, and the sound of many locks being undone before the door was thrown open, blasting the Khajiit with the full, overwhelming, sickly sweet stench of skooma, causing her eyes to water.

The man who stood before Adanji was old, but not so ancient as she had assumed. He was shirtless, with wild, roving eyes and wilder white hair that sprouted haphazardly from a receding hairline. He looked quite mad. Despite his age, his hunched figure and his trembling hand which clutched a pitifully dull dagger, she could see muscles rippling beneath that wrinkled skin. “W-what is it?” he asked in a feeble voice.

“Caius Cosades?” she asked at length. If this was some sort of joke... why was it important for her to seek out a crazy old skooma addict and give him a package? Then again, the Argonian had warned her not to judge on appearances. She hoped he was right.

“Th-that’s me... Yer not here to hurt m-me, are yeh? I g-g-got nothins to rob.”

“No. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m supposed to give you something.” She reached into her satchel, and the man cast about frantically, then his eyes settled on her hand, as if fearing a knife. Before she could even pull the papers out, she was yanked into his house, the door slammed shut behind her and locked faster than she could blink.

“What is it, then?” he barked, no longer hunched or trembling. Standing at his full height nearly all signs of age vanished. Those cloudy, unfocused eyes cleared right up and bored sharply into hers. He wasn’t frail; he was downright intimidating.

Adanji held out the papers, this time her hands were the ones that were trembling. Catching sight of the seal on the documents, Caius snatched them from the Khajiit—who didn’t move a muscle beyond occasionally glancing longingly at the door as he studied them. First he read a letter that was on the top of the package, then glanced down at the rest which was clearly written in some sort of code. His eyes settled squarely on Adanji, cold and calculating, his mouth set in a thin line. She dared not look away.

Finally, he spoke.

“So. Adanji, is it?” he growled. She nodded slowly, “It says here the Emperor wants me to make you a Novice in the Blades.” His mouth twisted into a smile; it was not a friendly or welcoming one, “That means you’ll be following my orders. Are you ready to follow my orders, Khajiit?” His voice took on a rather dangerous sounding tone. She had a feeling that declining would be suicide.

            “Yes?” Adanji squeaked.

            He relaxed visibly, “Smart. Welcome to the Blades, Novice.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t really know anything about the Blades—just rumors.”

“Good. That means we’re doing our job right,” he said, “Contrary to what you might have heard, we’re no knights. We don’t march around in gleaming armor, fighting great monsters of legend. We’re spies, but some rumors—the more accurate ones—would tell you that much. We’re the Emperor’s hidden eyes and ears. We watch the Emperor's enemies, look for opportunities, write reports, take action—sometimes kill—when the Emperor commands.”

She took a deep breath through her nose, trying not to vomit as her unease and the stench of fermented moon sugar tangled knots in her stomach. “Ok… so why me? Why send a petty criminal to join the Blades?”

“Ha! I’d like to know the same thing, but that’s privileged.”

“But—” He cut her off with a hard stare. _But it concerns me. Personally._ Adanji felt herself growing more and more uncomfortable with her lot in all this. If the Blades were that desperate for recruits, why not ask a Captain of the guard, or a Legion officer, or anyone else who actually showed some promise or desire to protect the Empire? Sending a prisoner made no sense.

 “As a Blade, you’ll have access to a number of trainers and other services offered by our agents.” He scrutinized her with narrowed eyes, “You look like you’ll need them.”

 _Well it’s not as though I signed up for this job_ , Adanji thought. “What exactly do you expect me to do, here?”

“I was just getting there,” Caius said impatiently, “Here, take this money—use it to buy yourself some armor or a weapon, or training.” He handed her a coin purse even heavier than the one Sellus had given her that morning. By her estimates, it was at least twice the weight. “You’ll also need a cover identity. You no doubt drew a lot of unwanted attention to yourself when you came looking for me, so before we can start with the real work we’ll need time for that to blow over, and I’ll thank you to be more subtle the next time you visit.”

She frowned. Unfortunately, he was right; she could definitely have been more subtle when asking around. Swims had always been better at asking questions. Generally speaking, he was just better with people. “What sort of cover story do I need?” Adanji said as she slipped the coin purse into her satchel, “I suppose ‘shirtless, skooma-addled madman’ is already taken?” She knew she was taking a risk goading him, but if he needed her it wasn’t as if he’d cut her down for the comment.

He actually almost appeared amused before adopting his original, stern mask, “Just look around Balmora. Familiarize yourself with the town, its customs. Learn about the various guilds and find one you like. Join it, do some jobs, gain experience, and once you’ve established yourself as a working citizen, come back and I’ll have orders for you. Also—before you leave...” He leaned over his table and quickly scrawled something down on a piece of parchment and handed it to her. “Take this. Don’t let anyone else see it—memorize it and destroy it.”

“What is it?” Adanji said, skimming over the paper—it appeared to be a list of names and locations.

“Information on where to find allies. Each person on that list is a Blades agent and will be willing to help you—sometimes for a price. You’ll find several here in Balmora.” He took her suddenly, firmly by the wrist, startling her. “Show them respect, Novice, don’t mess with their things—or mine—and don’t take them for granted, and they will be more willing to help you. This is a hard land and if you want to survive, you’ll need friends. Allies.”

Adanji nodded slowly and he released her arm.

“If you need a bed for the night, you can use mine for free, or you can find an inn in the Commercial District.”

Adanji nodded again, politely thanked him for the offer—which she honestly found a bit disturbing—and left. She had money and the Inn shouldn’t be too expensive—certainly more comfortable and less disgusting than Caius’ place. She stopped as a thought struck her.

She had money.

She had a job, though she tried not to think too hard about the implications, there.

She could afford a comfortable bed at night and enough warm, fresh food to fill her belly.

She looked back at Caius’ house, then down at the satchel, heavy with more money than she’d ever had, and rubbed absently at the mysterious enchanted ring she wore on her finger. This wasn’t her dream—she had never once wished to serve the Empire, which had never cared for her—but it was _something_. For the first time since Swims had died, a real smile graced her lips.


	3. The Guild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being rescued by a strange Khajiit, Adanji is given a test and welcomed into a Guild. How long before the Emperor-- and the Blades-- get impatient?

**Chapter Two**

The Guild

 

            Adanji had been in Balmora for nearly a week and her gold was running low. She had yet to find a suitable guild and was people-watching for the most part, learning what she could as Caius had suggested. She would wander the town and listen to conversations when she could get away with it and occasionally ask questions when the locals would allow it. She quickly learned that most of the local Dunmer did not appreciate outlanders—especially the Camonna Tong, the local gang of thieves and thugs who had been around long before any Imperial guilds had set up in Morrowind.

            The group often kept to themselves in or around the Council Club, which happened to be the first building right across from the silt strider docks. While that would normally be helpful, as Adanji could easily avoid them during the day, it became a problem at night, where they became an obstacle. The Council Club was directly beside the Lucky Lockup, which had become Adanji’s inn of choice. Since it was owned and run by ‘outlanders,’ it was far more welcoming to Adanji than any of the other inns.

            She was on her way back to the Lucky Lockup after a long day of job hunting and it was getting dark out. She had, of course, gathered information on the local guilds, which were much more inclined to take on hirelings, but the pickings were slim. There was only the Camonna Tong, which didn’t accept outlanders; the Fighter’s Guild, and Adanji wasn’t much for fighting monsters or ruffians; and the Mage’s Guild, and the Khajiit—as with most of her people—was no mage. There was also House Hlaalu, but honestly Adanji did not care to indulge in politics. The Temple seemed to have the same view of Outlanders as the Camonna Tong and Adanji wasn’t sure she’d agree with their doctrine anyway.

            She had heard tale of the local Thieves Guild, but they appeared only to be rumors; nobody seemed to know where the Guild was located as it seemed to be at odds with the much more powerful Camonna Tong. She supposed hiding made sense. She could have asked her fellow Blades for help, but she wasn’t entirely certain she even trusted them...

            She was so deep in thought, wondering when she would have to take up residence with Caius for lack of drakes, that she did not notice the Camonna Tong thug until he stepped in her path, shoving her against the wall.

            “Still here, outlander?” Adanji immediately recognized this man as the Dunmer who had rudely refused to give her directions to the South Wall several days before. “Thought I told yeh to leave.”

            Adanji cast around wildly, hoping a guard might stroll by, but alas they never seemed to be around when she actually needed them. “I’m surprised you recognized me,” Adanji said slowly as she tried to think of a way out of this, “I assumed we outlanders all look the same to you.”

            “So yer a _funny_ outlander?” the thug snarled, reaching for his blade.

            It was now or never, Adanji thought. Before he could draw the blade halfway from its sheath, she swiped her claws across his face, kicking him hard in the gut as he recoiled. She didn’t wait for him to recover—she had no desire to fight an armed man—and she darted away, her terror temporarily blinding her to the fact that the Lucky Lockup was nearby. She cursed herself when she realized she had passed it, certain that the thug would not be bold enough to chase her into an area so heavily populated with other outlanders.  

            As Adanji fled, she thought she saw the shadow of another person flitting into a dark alley, but charged on, hoping it wasn’t one of the thug’s allies as she heard him closing in on her, calling threats at her back. Adanji nearly cried out when someone grabbed her from behind, pulling her swiftly into the dark shadows of an alleyway and clapping a hand over her mouth as the Dunmer ran on by. They waited in silence as his footsteps and threats slowly faded away and only then did the stranger release her hold on Adanji’s mouth.

            Adanji whirled around, narrowing her eyes until she saw that she recognized the figure—Habasi, the Khajiit from South Wall. Her face was mostly shrouded under the hood of the umber cloak she was wearing, but her sharp yellow eyes were glinting visibly.

            “It is unwise, provoking the Camonna Tong.”

            “He attacked me first!” Adanji growled.

            “And Khajiit left him with a scar he will never forget. She humiliated him.” Habasi smirked at the thought, “The Camonna Tong thugs think themselves above outlanders—think Khajiit should be their slaves only.” There was a distinct note of bitterness in her voice. “That one will make a dangerous enemy for you. Habasi would suggest Khajiit move out of the Lucky Lockup, so close to their den of thugs.”

            Adanji’s expression was one of utter bewilderment, “Have you been following me?”

            “No. This one did not find you so... interesting—she was merely in the area—but now she is amused.” She grinned. “Come. I have a job for you.”

            Adanji was reluctant to follow the other Khajiit at first, but reasoned that she _did_ need work. Maybe Habasi could be convinced to get Adanji’s belongings from the Lucky Lockup? Then she could move to the Dunmer-owned Eight Plates, where there were loads of folk from House Hlaalu and the prices were higher, but was further from the Council Club.

            “Where are we going?” Adanji whispered when she realized Habasi was not leading her back toward South Wall. In fact, the Khajiit was leading her uphill, toward Hightown.

            “You can repay this one with a favor. Habasi is meant to get a diamond, and Khajiit can get it for her. Do not fret, friend...?” She trailed off, searching for a name.

            “Adanji.” She felt that she had been saying her own name a lot lately. Probably because she had never introduced herself to so many people before—in the Imperial City, the beggars had mostly known her since she was a kitten, and no one else cared about her name because she was a criminal or a lowly street urchin.

            “Yes? Yes! Do not fret. I will not let you get caught.”

            Adanji felt a mix of anxiety and excitement. On the one hand, she felt she was about to get into a lot of trouble, on the other, this sounded suspiciously like a job the Thieves Guild might give, and she was a capable enough thief. They stopped short of a few high-end shops, keeping low in the brush to the side of the buildings.

            “Nalcarya has diamonds,” Habasi said, indicating the Alchemist’s shop. “Habasi will keep watch. You can pick locks?”

            Adanji nodded.

            “Good. You have a pick?”

            Adanji felt around in her pocket to confirm she did and nodded second time.

            “Perfect! We will wait—quietly—until the guard leaves and the candles have been out for an hour—the elf should be asleep by then. Then Adanji will pick the lock and find the diamonds while this one waits and keeps watch.”

            _Well_ , Adanji thought, _Caius_ did _tell me to find work, and this definitely counts_. Ok, Adanji was doubtful the old man would want her breaking into homes, and part of her felt that this was a terrible idea, but Habasi had just saved her from certain death. She was determined to make it up to her—if only to avoid a later debt. She watched as the guard, stationed at the shop during the day to prevent break-ins, left the shop, off duty for the day. An hour passed in silence and the shop was quiet.  

            At Habasi’s urgings, Adanji crouched at the upper door of the alchemist’s shop, leading to the owner’s quarters, and fiddled with the lock until it gave. She swung the door open quietly and almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of the Altmer’s snoring. She glanced back at Habasi, who gave her the all clear, and Adanji slipped into the shop, carefully closing the door behind her. Habasi had said the diamonds, valuable as they were, were unlikely to be in the shop proper. She assumed they were kept in a locked chest or jewelry box, away from the rest of the alchemist’s ingredients.

            After checking a few promising jewelry boxes to no avail, the Khajiit finally caught sight of a beautifully decorated box resting on a shelf, right above the slumbering Altmer’s bed. Adanji would bet anything that the diamonds were in there.  She felt that there was something awfully familiar about stealing from an Altmer’s shop as she climbed silently onto the nightstand and placed a supporting foot carefully on the head board. There was _nothing_ familiar, however, about climbing over someone’s bed while they were sleeping in an attempt to get at the treasures above. She held her breath, doing her best to remain still and quiet as she picked the simple lock on the box.

            Popping the box open, Adanji was met with the sight of three glittering diamonds.  Just when she scooped the gems up in her hand she froze—the sound of the Altmer stirring in her bed making her heart leap into her throat. She prayed to whatever gods may be listening that the woman would not wake when she heard her snort and mumble something in her sleep. After a few long moments of the Altmer mumbling something about a dreamer, and then something about some unknown Great House, the woman finally settled back into deep sleep, her snoring perhaps louder than it had been before. _Dreamer? Why does that sound familiar?_ Adanji shook the feeling, though her fur still stood on end. She had a job to finish.

            “Sleep tight,” Adanji mouthed as she snuck swiftly back to the door. A quick glance outside told her there were no guards patrolling nearby.

            Habasi had been waiting for her, wringing her hands anxiously, and greeted Adanji as she got outside.     

            “Quickly!” she hissed, dragging Adanji by the elbow to their earlier hiding spot. “Did you get Habasi a diamond?”

            Adanji nodded and held out her hand, palm up, revealing three sparkling white gems. Habasi’s eyes widened with glee. “Three! Habasi knew she had a good feeling about you.” She clapped Adanji on the back. “Come. I think you would do nicely in the Guild.”

            “Guild?”

            Habasi only grinned, leading Adanji back through the shadows, all the way to South Wall.

 

            “Phane Rielle!” Habasi shouted as they entered South Wall’s den, “Bring Habasi a drink! And one for her friend, Adanji!”

            Phane—the Breton barkeep—looked down his nose at Adanji as he brought the drinks. “This is the Khajiit who was asking about Caius,” he sniffed, suspicion written all over his face, “What’s she doing here?”

            “Habasi thinks she would make a fine addition to the Guild.”

            Phane set the drinks down—perhaps a bit more firmly than he’d intended to, causing some of their contents to foam up and slosh over the rims—and glared sharply between the two Khajiit. “Are you sure about that? This one looks like trouble. _She was asking about Caius_ ,” he repeated with more emphasis.

            “Bah! It is no big thing. Phane worries too much!” Habasi grinned.

            “And you don’t worry en—”

            “You do mean the Thieves Guild, right?” Adanji interrupted. She would be the first to admit she was being a bit slow on the uptake, but the last thing she needed was to make assumptions or get her hopes up—especially get her hopes up.

            “Do we mean the thieves guild! Is she not a cute thing, Phane? Yes! Habasi means the Thieves Guild.”

            Phane still didn’t appear entirely convinced, or amused.

            “Here is the proof: this one asked for a diamond, and her friend brought three!” She handed Phane the diamonds—which he immediately began to inspect—without bothering to mention that Adanji had simply been fortunate that there was more than one, or that any diamonds had been in the shop in the first place.

            “Mmmm,” Phane said.

            “She will have to know the rules, of course—ah! Arathor! There you are, right on time!”

            Adanji spun around to see the pinch-nosed Bosmer bringing in her satchel from the Lucky Lockup, a mischievous grin on his face which, admittedly, was a common expression for his people.

            “When did you—” Adanji snatched her satchel from him and immediately started rummaging through it, making sure her second set of clothing and her money was still all there.

            “There _is_ honor among thieves,” Habasi said as Adanji counted her coin, “The first rule is that we avoid killing—unlike the Camonna Tong thugs. The second?” Adanji sighed a breath of relief when she saw her gold and belongings were all still there. “We do not steal from fellow Guild members, or bring them to harm in any way.”

            Adanji smiled sheepishly, “Right... How did he get my things so quickly?”

            It was Habasi’s turn to smile, “Nnn, Habasi sent Arathor to collect your things while you were in Nalcarya’s shop.”

            “You weren’t watching for guards?” Adanji squeaked.

            “You got in unnoticed, Habasi thought she could leave her friend alone long enough to give an order or two.”

            She had a point. Half the work of a lookout was to make sure the guards or homeowners did not see anyone coming or going—once one was actually in the home or shop, for the most part, they were fine. So long as they didn’t run into trouble on the way out.

            “So...?”

            “So what?” Adanji said idly. She had drifted off into thought and was staring at a crude drawing that had obviously been carved into the counter with a knife— by an adolescent with unrealistic expectations, by her estimate.

            “Does Adanji wish to join the Guild?” Habasi looked hopeful, Arathor looked indifferent, and Phane appeared to be sucking on a rotten lemon. Adanji didn’t notice the other eyes on her.

            She had always yearned to join the Thieves Guild, so why was she hesitating? They would offer her shelter and payment and, perhaps, decent company, though she doubted the latter. Caius had told her to find a cover—what better cover than a Guild she had always wished to join? At the very least, she might be protected from the Camonna Tong thugs, if the Thieves Guild was truly at odds with the group.

            “Fine,” Adanji said in a resigned tone. “I’ll join the Thieves Guild.” When she said the words, a tiny flame of excitement and joy was lit in her heart. Swims would have been proud. _But this is just the first step,_ he would say, _we still have a long way to go before we’re anything like the Gray Fox._ She took the Sujamma Phane had given her and downed it in three gulps, only realizing after the fact that it tasted like an Orc’s armpit in the middle of Sun’s Height.

            “Nnn, I think you should get the Toad another drink.” Habasi shook her head slowly at Adanji’s apparent apprehension but did not stop smiling, slapping Adanji playfully on the back as she passed her by, “Oh, and before she is too sloshed to walk, perhaps Phane should show her to the sleeping quarters?”

            Adanji watched the other Khajiit slip up the stairs without another word, her vision blurred from drink or from tears. She wasn’t sure which. She snatched up the second drink Phane shoved in front of her and knocked it back without another thought.

***

            “Wake up!” Adanji groaned as the voice interrupted her sleep, a booming headache splitting her skull. She felt a hand shaking her shoulder.

            “Wha’d’you want?” she grumbled. She had had an unusual dream, but she couldn’t recall anything about it, except that it had felt real.

            “Sugar-lips told me to get you up.” Adanji recognized the face of Arathor staring back at her in the darkness.

            “Sugar-lips?”

            “Habasi— the Mastermind. You know... you got diamonds with her last night?” he said, as if it were obvious. It wasn’t her fault she had never heard Habasi’s apparent nickname.

            “Sss...” She rubbed her forehead. “What time is it?”

            “Early.” Arathor smirked, saying the word in a sing-song voice. “Pre-dawn, if you must know.” The Bosmer was clearly a morning person.

            Adanji had the sudden, strong desire to bang her head into the nearest wall, but with her hangover that would likely cause her head to explode, making the headache worse. The tempting second option would be to strangle the elf, but that would probably get her expelled, or sent to prison again, or both. “Why so early?”

            Arathor shrugged, “You’re just a Toad in the guild. Which means you’re either working or training. Or hopping around—but that would look silly. Maybe when you’ve done enough—get some jobs done, get promoted a few times—you’ll have more time to sleep off your drink, but until then, it’s just work.”

            “Ugh...” Adanji was certain she would never drink so much again. Finally, she roused herself enough to look around. “Where are we?” She yawned.

            “Headquarters—the _real_ headquarters. Under South Wall. This lovely room is the dormitory,” he said, gesturing around them. It appeared they were in a cave, with wooden supports and makeshift walls dividing it into various quarters. It felt cramped, but the thieves seemed to make the most of it, using ramshackle, three-tiered bunks to line the walls of the ‘dormitory.’ Adanji was in the bottom bunk of one such bed. On further inspection, it seemed none of the others were occupied. “Most of us are nocturnal by now—or close enough to it,” he said, noticing her slight confusion. “You’ll meet everyone soon enough.”

            Arathor helped Adanji to her feet—or dragged her to them, as it were. Likely to prevent her from rolling over and going back to sleep. Persistent bastard. “Come on, let’s get you some breakfast and then we can begin your training.”

            “Is that free?” She meant the training services, but she supposed the breakfast counted as well.

            Arathor laughed. “No. But that reminds me—Sugar-lips told me to give you this.” He tossed her a coin purse, which she fumbled with, dropped, and had to scoop up off the floor, “Your share from the diamonds. Phane’s already found a buyer for the extras.”

            _That was quick_ , Adanji thought. Much to her pleasure, the bag had a decent weight.

 

            Breakfast consisted of boiled Kwama eggs and porridge made from saltrice grain up at Phane’s bar—it was bland, but filling. Adanji had found that the guild headquarters was accessible via a trapdoor located under a mat in the storage room behind the bar. It was kept locked much of the time, opened from either side with a specific key—she would have to earn her own copy. The thieves seemed quite paranoid that they may be found.

            “Ah! This is the new Toad?” A heavily accented, somewhat husky voice broke the silence. Adanji glanced up. A buxom, tawny-furred Khajiit was gazing back at her, indigo eyes glinting. Adanji recognized her from when she’d asked about Caius—she had been sitting across from Arathor.

            “Yeah. Hello.”

            “Chirranirr is very happy to meet you.”

            “Ah.” They stared at one another for a moment. “I’m, er... happy to meet you too?” She didn’t’ mean to sound rude. She was just cranky and really regretting that last drink she’d had last night.

            The Khajiit threw an arm around Adanji’s shoulder, nearly enveloping her. She shifted uncomfortably, stiffly leaning away, “Chirranirr will see you for training, yes?”

            “Uh…?”

            “Chirranirr’s our lock picking expert,” Arathor explained, taking up a seat beside the Khajiit, who hastily dropped her arm from Adanji’s shoulder. “She has _very_ nimble hands,” he said with a playful grin.

            “Oh, Arathor teases!” Chirranirr purred, “But yes, Chirranirr looks forward to seeing the Toad’s progress. Perhaps Adanji will give the Camonna Tong _jekosiit_ a run for their money?” Oh, xhuth, Adanji hoped she wouldn’t have to deal with them again anytime soon. Before she could say anything, she was interrupted.

            “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Arathor said, “We send all our Toads up against Camonna Tong, all we’ll get back is frog legs!” He winced, “Er… Toad legs? Hmm.. something. That didn’t come out the way I planned it.”

            Adanji buried her face in her palm.

            Chirranirr forced one dry laugh, “Ha. That was terrible.” Then she beamed, “It is ok, though. Arathor is still Chirranirr’s favorite toy, yes?” Adanji thought she might gag if this continued too long, and pointedly ignored the rest of the conversation. She noticed with some amusement that Phane was nonchalantly stuffing what appeared to be some sort of wax into his ears, and didn’t miss him sneaking a quick swig of what had to be a strong drink, given the way he shivered as it went down.

   

            As Arathor had warned, Adanji’s day was full of rigorous training. Two of the rooms in Headquarters were dedicated to training. One training room was long and full of tripwires with bells attached to them, with locked chests on the other side, each one more complex than the last. Training in this room consisted of getting across without setting off any bells and opening at least one chest with picks and returning before the sand in the hourglass ran out. There were five such hourglasses, each one with a different amount of sand in it. The chests, once picked, would lock themselves again, such was the nature of the mechanism the thieves used for training.

            The other room, to Adanji’s confusion, trained in various fighting styles and weapon techniques; marksman, hand-to-hand, and short blade. She asked Arathor about this, remembering Habasi mentioning a no-killing policy. He explained that, while the guild did indeed avoid murder, they expected its members to be capable of escaping a mark if a job went sour, or defending the guildhall should the Camonna Tong find them. With lethal force, if necessary. This was as decent an explanation as any, and she did not inquire about it further, though she found herself hoping there would never be any such confrontation between the rival guilds. At least not while she was there.

   

            “Keep your tail up!” Arathor snapped as Adanji set off a bell trap for what had to be the hundredth time, “And keep lower to the ground—when people are searching for you, they tend to look at eye-level.”

            Adanji hissed in frustration, “What’s with all the bells, anyway? I don’t recall any houses or stores having such traps when I robbed _them_.”

            “If you can navigate the bell traps successfully, you can get anywhere unheard. If you want to get out unseen, it’s a matter of staying low and keeping to shadows.” He did his best to keep his voice even as he explained it again. “You know, _pussyfoot_. You should be good at that.”

            “Oh, are you proud of that one?”

            “A bit, yeah,” the Bosmer simpered.

            Adanji was not amused. She found her legs shaking uncontrollably and she felt she might collapse at any moment. The strain of staying low, but not _too_ low, while also keeping her tail up and stepping high over the wires and softly enough to take her next step unheard all combined to levels of pain almost unbearable. All her life she’d had no idea how far off her form had been when sneaking about. Indeed, she hadn’t even been aware there _was_ a proper form. “Can we take a break?”

            “Later. It hasn’t even been an hour.”

            Adanji groaned. That night her muscles were so stiff she could barely walk and she was happy to go to bed early.

***

            Nearly a month had passed. The Guild had assigned Adanji a small chest at the foot of her bed, where she kept her personal belongings, extra clothing, and most of her earnings. She had completed a number of simple jobs, occasionally having to leave Balmora for other, nearby settlements, and some freelance theft, fencing the goods to Phane. She had earned her own key into guild headquarters. While she enjoyed the work, as it kept her busy, she found her thoughts drifting back to Cyrodiil. She missed having a partner in crime, her solitary heists often reminding her how lonely she felt.

            Along with her odd jobs, her training was going well. She still set off bells in the training room, but not nearly so many as she had when she’d first started training, and it no longer hurt to sneak using the proper form. She found herself growing more agile. She was also now capable of opening the second chest fairly consistently without breaking picks.

 

            “Why is Adanji here?” Habasi asked one evening.

            Adanji looked up at her, confused, then down into her mug. She had been deep in thought when Habasi had approached, and wasn’t expecting conversation. “What do you mean? I’m, thirsty, I guess...” she said evasively.

            “Haha—no. This is not what Habasi means. Why is Adanji _here?_ ” She spread her arms wide, as if to indicate Morrowind. “She never talks about herself. Just does her jobs, trains, eats, and sleeps. It is almost like you don’t really care about anything. So answer this one’s question: Why are you here?”

            She’d had a bad feeling that was where this particular line of questioning was going. “I can’t say, really... I came here from Cyrodiil.” She wondered how much she should tell—if anything, and how much should be the truth. “A friend of mine was killed.” She immediately regretted saying that. Heat rose in her cheeks and she bit her tongue. She could have said anything—anything—but that. Why had she blurted it out? _Stupid, stupid..._

            Habasi nodded, her expression turning to a sympathetic one. “What was this friend like?”

            “Pushy.” Adanji glowered at Habasi, her ears lying back. It could have been an accusation of the Mastermind. Why was she asking these questions? Adanji didn’t realize it had been so long since she’d made a friend that one always had to start with the questions. When Habasi didn’t go away or show interest in dropping the subject, Adanji sighed and knocked back the remainder of her Mazte.

            “He and his brother raised me. Both Argonians—Hides-His-Heart and Swims-In-Dark-Waters. Hides was the senior of the two, the one who found me, and gave me the first Khajiit name he could come up with. He taught me to read, because he thought it was an undervalued skill in the homeless, and a useful one for thieves. ‘It’s good to know current events,’ he said, so he always had us reading the Black Horse Courier. It’s helpful to read wanted posters, too—make sure you aren’t drawing too much attention. He also told us stories of the legendary Gray Fox, and taught us to dream.” Her voice faltered, “He went out one day to bring us food. Because it was winter, food was scarce, and we were starving… He didn’t come back.”

            Habasi nodded again, slowly. Her eyes had lit up at the mention of the Gray Fox, but she’d remained silent out of respect. She wordlessly signaled to Phane to bring them a drink and shoved one in front of Adanji. “And Swims-In-Dark-Waters?”

            Adanji was silent for a long time. Hides was an old wound, by almost seven years, and easy enough to talk about. Swims was recent. Raw. She took the drink and knocked it back, despite her better judgment. Greef, this time. It wasn’t as bad as Sujamma, but it was bitter. After some hesitation, she told Habasi all about her friend Swims, their quest to get in the Thieves Guild, and how her friend had been killed on the job that was to make their dreams come true.

            Habasi was silent through it all, as was Arathor, who had wandered over to listen. Adanji absently rocked the scarred pewter tankard she was holding back and forth on the counter, watching the bubbles as they sluggishly circled the bottom. She realized this was the first chance she’d had to actually talk about any of this. While it stung to bring up a subject she’d come so close to burying, it also somehow felt good to just let it out. She wasn’t even sure if her fellow guild mates cared, but that didn’t seem to matter at that moment.

            “How did you get here from Cyrodiil?” Arathor asked when Adanji had finished telling them of her family. Habasi also looked particularly interested in this information.

            “Yes, how did Adanji go from being a prisoner in the Imperial City to a wanderer in Morrowind?”

            This was where Adanji would have to lie. She doubted Caius would want her blabbing about the Emperor sending her here for any reason, even though she also doubted her peers would believe her. She barely believed any of it herself. “I escaped,” she said, “There was a prison riot and while the Guards were confused I slipped out and I ran.”

            “Why come to Morrowind?” the elf said.

            Adanji hesitated, “It seemed cut off enough from the Empire that I could hide here and be forgotten.”

            Habasi eyed her skeptically, but did not pry. Arathor, on the other hand, congratulated Adanji on her resourcefulness and asked for details. She felt a small twinge of guilt for lying to him, especially after he and Habasi had been kind enough to listen to her troubles, but spun a grand tale nonetheless, happy to be off the more personal subject.

            She told them of how she’d started the riot with a few scathing remarks to one of the prisoners and picked the key off one of the guards who had come to investigate, unlocking her own cell and several others to stir up the chaos, which would then cover her escape into the sewers. “I got lost in them for a day,” she said, hoping it would make her tale more believable, “They’re like a maze. But I eventually got out, bypassing the city gates, and the guards never caught up to me.”

            “Guards always seem to be so incompetent!” Arathor howled, “At least the Imperial ones do. These local Hlaalu guards actually give us trouble. Shame they don’t do the same for the Camonna Tong or I might actually respect them.”

            “This one thinks they are paid off, or forbidden from interfering. She thinks the Magistrate has a deal going with the Camonna Tong and turns a blind eye.”

            Arathor dismissed her, rolling his eyes, “You and your conspiracies. No disrespect, of course,” he said as though he’d just remembered he was speaking to his boss, “But I’d think that the higher-ups would want those murderers taken care of.”

            “If that is the case,” Habasi said, “Then why are they still here? We all know where they keep themselves. They are so confident they practically advertise their location! So why not send in the guards?” Adanji listened intently to the rest of the conversation—which went on for ages—occasionally chuckling at the jokes the two would make at each other’s expense. It sounded as if this was a topic the two had discussed many times before. Their relationship almost reminded her of the one she’d had with Swims.

  

            Three days later, Habasi sent Arathor to collect Adanji from her training sessions, which had been taken up by Chirranirr, who was much better at teaching Adanji lock picking techniques. At first she had been flustered by the training. Chirranirr had told her to build dexterity by knitting, and had her making scarves. It had been humiliating, what with Arathor’s teasing about ‘cats playing with yarn,’ but had ultimately proven fruitful. Adanji was already noticing improved speed at the locked chests. Finally, Adanji was being considered for a promotion to Wet Ear; Habasi had been particularly demanding of her to avoid Phane’s accusations of favoritism for her fellow Khajiit.

            “Friend Khajiit looks tired,” Habasi said as Adanji approached.

            “I’m fine,” she yawned, “Just had a strange dream last night, that’s all.” More a nightmare, though she couldn’t recall the details.

            Habasi’s brow furrowed for a moment, but it was fleeting as she adopted a more relaxed, professional guise. “Onto business, then. Adanji will get Habasi a key,” the Mastermind told her, “It is a very special key to Nerano Manor.”

            “I can’t just pick the lock?”

            Habasi shook her head, “The door to his upper quarters is enchanted and only the key will get Habasi in.”

            There was something Habasi wasn’t telling her. “What do you need? Maybe I-”

            “Always so inquisitive, Habasi’s friend is.” The Khajiit sounded both amused and impatient, “Nerano is said to have many treasures in his quarters—treasures Habasi wants.”

            Most of the time, the Mastermind would just send Adanji to gather specific, valuable items within a manor. Apparently she wished to do this particular job herself, and needed the key so she could get to Nerano’s riches without facing the dangers of an enchanted lock. There were plenty of stories of careless thieves being severely injured or even killed attempting to force such locks. While Habasi could easily get the key herself, Adanji thought, it was likely the Mastermind didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to herself. While she was still curious about what it was Habasi wanted from the manor, she didn’t press the matter further. “Where can I get the key?”

            “Ondres Nerano has a key, as does his servant, Sovor Trandel. Nerano can be found in his shop during the day, in the lower level of his Manor. His servant will be more difficult—he is a known member of the Camonna Tong and keeps to the Council Club when he isn’t... _busy._ ”

            Adanji bit her lip, understanding the implications. “And how do you expect me to get it from either of these men?”

            “Talk it out of them, or pick either of their pockets.” Habasi said as if it were that simple, “Here—I do not know about Trandel, but Nerano should take kindly to a gift; we all know how brandy can grease the wheels.” She handed Adanji an exquisitely decorated bottle of the amber liquid.

            “Is this coming out of my pay?”

            “Of course!” Habasi said without missing a beat, “But the pay is high, and Adanji will get her promotion.”

            Adanji nodded, understanding.

            “I suggest Adanji try Nerano first. You will not like it, but act as one of Trandel’s slaves—this is the only way the fat bigot will accept a gift from a Khajiit. Butter him up—try to get him to drink the brandy in front of you and when he is drunk it should be easy to lift the key.”

            It disturbed Adanji that she would have to play the part of a slave—particularly that her people were so widely used for that purpose in Morrowind that it would be her only convincing cover—but she took the job nonetheless, hoping that stealing from such a corrupt individual would somehow make her feel better. Still, she hoped there may be another option. She would ask around for advice.

   

            Chirranirr was sitting cross-legged on her bunk, a bottle of what looked suspiciously like skooma at her side. She was busily sharpening her claws with a knife as Adanji approached. “Adanji! What is the Toad doing here? Did boss Habasi not send Khajiit on a job?”

            “She did, and I’m about to go do it, but I had a question first.”

            “A question for Chirraniir? She is honored, but she thinks Habasi should answer such questions.”

            “Ah, but no one else knows locks like you do, Chirranirr,” Adanji said, allowing a slight purr in her voice.   

            “Oh? Clever Khajiit. Flattery will get her everywhere. So! What does Adanji wish to know?” She glanced down, then hissed, grabbing Adanji’s hand and staring at her fingers. “Look at those claws! Chirranirr did not notice—they are a disgrace!”

            “Oh… um, about the locks?” she said, trying to get Chirranirr back on subject. The sugar-tooth only ‘hmm’ed, taking her knife and busily filing away at Adanji’s claws. “Yes… do you kn—ouch—know about traps?”

            “Yes! Cut the tripwire and move out of the way. Sss! Hold still.” Adanji winced, but followed the other’s advice, biting down on her lip. “Or Khajiit could step over. See a pressure plate? They are obvious. Avoid misplaced piles of le—”

            “I meant trapped locks. You know, magic ones?”

            “Ah, yes. Very dangerous… There! Sharp as daggers. Give Chirranirr your other hand.”

Adanji reluctantly did so, then admired Chirranirr’s handiwork. Her claws were cleaner and, as the Khajiit had said, quite sharp. “Is there a way to bypass them?”

            “Nnn… Khajiit could use probes. Special lockpicks. Enchanted. Can be hard to come by…” She paused, deep in thought for a moment, “This one has some for sale, but does not recommend it. Not without proper training. Fail in disarming the trap and Khajiit could wind up dead—BOOM!” she said, throwing her arms wide in a dramatic display, “Exploded into many tiny, bloody chunks of cat-meat. Very nasty. Would require much scrubbing and many days to clean up, yes?” She returned to her claw-sharpening.

            “Oh.” That didn’t sound particularly pleasant.

            “Or Khajiit could simply use the key. Bypass trap and bloody death completely. No pink mist for homeowner to clean up. No dead Toad.” She let go of Adanji’s hand, “There! Now you have proper Khajiit claws.”

            “Thanks...” She had what she needed. She was hoping to simply disarm the trap so Habasi could get into Nerano Manor safely without the key, and so Adanji wouldn’t have to demean herself, but it didn’t look like that was much of an option. She would have to play the role of a slave, much to her displeasure, but at least she could avoid a bloody end.

 

            Adanji stopped in her tracks when screams suddenly erupted near the Odai River and, as curious beings do, she ran headlong toward the sound—hoping all the while that some murderer was not on the loose and she wasn’t about to hurdle into a knife. Up ahead, being pulled from the river was the unmoving form of a Dunmer. He was working class, based on the cheap, ragged clothing, callused hands, and filthy hair. He wasn’t bloated, and hadn’t lost any of his color, suggesting he may still be alive. She didn’t know the man, but Adanji found herself holding her breath.

            “Another one?” she heard a guard mutter under his breath as he reached the scene. “It’s been so long since the last attack, I thought...”

            A Dunmer woman had taken the Dunmer’s body and was desperately pumping his chest, leaning in and trying to breathe life back into his lungs. She cast around desperately at the bystanders, but all seemed too shocked to move. She threw herself back into her work for a few eerily quiet moments then, defeated, gazed up at the nearest guard, “He’s dead!” she cried hysterically, tears rolling down her dark cheeks. Adanji felt a chill creep up her spine as she let the air out of her lungs, hissing through her teeth.

            “He was just fine, and awake—exhausted, but awake!” the woman mumbled, her voice rising in a panic. “He told me he hadn’t been getting sleep—had been having nightmares—that he was worried he’d wind up like the others and I told him he’d be alright, then, all of a sudden he just—passed out—went mad—as if in a waking nightmare.” Adanji had no idea what the woman was on about, but it seemed to have everyone watching on edge. A hush had fallen over the crowd and faces paled. Some knuckles went white from how tightly hands were clenched, others trembled. “He started screaming something about a—a Sixth House and a Dreamer, then he attacked me and—and fell into the river—I—I don’t think he was conscious, then, and... He drowned before we could get to him...”

            At the mention of uncanny dreams and the Sixth House, an acolyte of the Tribunal Temple glared at the woman. The guards—and several bystanders—exchanged uncomfortable glances. Something similar had happened before. As the guards urged the bystanders away and took down the witness’s report, Adanji couldn’t help but think of the nightmare she’d had the previous night. She now recalled something about a Dreamer, and a dark figure in a golden mask. A shiver ran down her spine. Would she suffer the same fate?

            She firmly reminded herself that she had a job to do, and that she should worry about such things later, but still the event had her shaken and it would be difficult to focus on the task at hand.

 

            “I’m not taking your skooma, so get out,” Nerano said as Adanji entered his shop.

            “Skooma, sir?” Adanji said, trying to ignore the stereotype. She had hidden her satchel and coins under a bush in the garden outside, and was hunched over to complete the guise of a slave—it helped that she was already scrawny. She quickly thought of a random Khajiiti name and did her best imitation of local Khajiiti dialect, though it took some concentration to speak in the third person, “Najjan has no skoomas. No moon sugars neither.”

            He eyed her closely, then crossed his arms over his plump chest, “What do you want then, cat?”

            “Najjan’s master, Trandel, sends a gift for good Nerano.” She produced the brandy.

            “Sovor?” He narrowed his eyes, “Did he send you to poison me, _slave_?”

            Apparently Habasi hadn’t known of the obvious bad blood between Nerano and his servant. Such information would have been useful.  “No, sir. Najjan carries but a peace offering.”

            His suspicion only seemed to grow. “Then you won’t mind tasting that for me, now will you?”

            Adanji realized this could either be a good thing, or a bad thing. If she drank and he saw that the brandy was not poison, he might also be inclined to let his guard down and take a drink. If she was lucky, she could get him tipsy enough to start talking about the key, or better, enough to pass out so she could search for it at her leisure. On the other hand, he might not be satisfied with one sip. She might be the one to get drunk and she’d be completely at his mercy. The thought of all the nasty things he could do to her, or have her do, if she got too inebriated made her ill.

            Trembling, she uncorked the bottle and poured some brandy into the crystal glass Nerano provided. He watched her closely as she took a deep swig of the drink, shivering as it hit her stomach—the stuff was strong.  Moments passed and, beyond the slight buzz she was getting, Adanji was unharmed. Nerano snatched up the drink, still not convinced, and sniffed it with his over-long nose.

            “Ahhh,” he said at length, “This is Colovian Brandy. Expensive stuff. My, my, my, Sovor, what _are_ you planning?” Adanji was beginning to suspect that no one trusted Camonna Tong thugs—not even their employers, which was turning out to be a rather unfortunate thing for her. She glanced about as discreetly as she could while the man rambled about various plots he seemed to assume Sovor had against his life, and finally she caught sight of a glimmer of the key peeking out from over the popped collar of his exquisite, ruby-red shirt, hanging on a string about his four-chinned neck. _Xhuth._  

            He looked at her sharply. “I see you’re still alive, slave.” He tossed her the brandy and she caught it, fumbling so it would not spill. “Pour me a drink, then.”

            She bit back a scathing _Pour it yourself_ , and took his clean glass, pouring him the brandy. She handed it to him, “Here, good sir.” _I hope you choke on it._

            “Hmmm....” He drank deeply. “Where did Sovor get you, slave? You’ve an odd manner of speaking.”

            “C-Cyrodiil, good sir,” Adanji said, realizing her accent had probably given her away, or maybe it was something else? Was she over-doing her part? Had she misspoken?

            “Huh. That explains the backward, Western, sorry excuse for manners. I’m surprised Sovor hasn’t beaten sense into you, yet.” He shoved the glass toward her, “Pour me another!”

            Adanji did as he said, “Najjan did not mean to offend you, sir. She is new.”

            “Quiet—and avert your gaze when addressing your superiors.” Another gulp. “We’ll teach you manners, yet.” He grinned nastily.

            _Xhuth!_ That didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like a promise. Adanji had a feeling she would need to hurry this up—distract him, snatch the key, and run. Whatever Habasi needed this key for, Adanji hoped it was more important than some high quality trinkets. Really, there were plenty of trinkets to be found in Hightown. “Yes, sir,” she said, the words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth as she stared down at her feet.

            “I don’t understand the obsession with keeping your kind as slaves.” He snatched the brandy from Adanji’s hands and poured himself some more, growing irritable—and drunk. “Can’t be trusted to do anything right. Stupid. Incompetent. Thieving, conniving. Only the Argonians make worse slaves—too combative and barbaric for their own good. Make better _boots_ , if you ask me.”

            It was all Adanji could do not to lunge at the bigoted fool. She kept staring at her feet, urging herself to keep her face as passive as possible, her ears erect. Only her constantly twitching tail and rigid fur along her spine hinted at her ire. _Maybe_ you _should be made into a pair of boots. Better yet, a couch. You have enough skin for it!_

            “Won’t be long before you’re all driven out.” He was now drinking straight from the bottle. He wiped his flushed face on the back of his sleeve and spat in Adanji’s face. She grimaced, her claws popping. “Tell me, rug! Why did Sovor send you here? Get me drunk off my arse so you could kill me?”

            That was her chance, she thought. “Yes.” She lunged at him, taking some pleasure in the startled expression on his face. Her claws easily cut the string that kept the key about his fat neck and he didn’t seem to notice as she slipped it into her pocket, too concerned with her apparent intent of murder.

            “GUARDS!!!” he screamed. It was time to run. “GUARDS!!! THERE IS A MURDERER IN MY HOUSE! GUARDS!” Adanji bolted for the door, Nerano giving chase and screaming after her into the street. “GUARDS!!!! CATCH THAT KHAJIITI SLAVE! SHE TRIED TO MURDER ME!!”

            _Well,_ she thought, _I could have thought this through a little better._ Perhaps attacking the noble with high standing in Balmora was not the best of ideas, no matter how much he deserved or even expected it. Maybe the Camonna Tong could somehow be implicated? She was, after all, supposed to be a slave of one of its members. At the very least there may be an investigation that would hinder them in some way. Maybe Habasi wouldn’t be too mad at her? She hadn’t killed anyone, though she was certain she was about to get caught, and she _did_ have the key. Shame the Mastermind wasn’t here to pull her to safety now...

            She slammed into a man in full Bonemold armor, falling back against the cobblestone quite winded. “Over here!” she heard him say, “I caught the slave!” She felt him hauling her to her feet and slapping her in irons. She had to squeeze her eyes shut to chase the stars out of her vision before she could see the large, approaching figure.

            “I want her dead, do you hear me?” Nerano huffed as he reached them, sweaty from the short jog. “DEAD!”

            “Sorry, serjo, we can’t just—”

            “She tried to kill me!”

            “Apologies, good sirs,” Adanji stammered, knowing she was taking a risk in even speaking up, “N-Najjan was merely following her master’s orders.”

            “Quiet,” the guard holding her muttered at her ear.

            “Yes!” Nerano blurted, “I want a full investigation done on one Sovor Trandel!”

            “Your servant, serjo?” another guard asked on his approach.

            “We can’t touch him—he’s Camonna Tong, we’re not equipped to take any action against them.” He sounded notably bitter about this fact. “We will bring the Khajiit in for questioning, Nerano, and maybe a prolonged stay in prison, but that’s all we can do. Execution is reserved for murder.”

            Nerano flew into a rant, cursing the Imperials and their ‘backward’ laws, and a relieved Adanji could still hear him screaming at the guard who remained to deal with him as she was led off to Fort Moonmoth—the only prison near Balmora.

 

            The guards stationed at Fort Moonmoth were primarily Imperial, and seemed fairly sympathetic to Adanji when they heard the Hlaalu guard’s story about her being a slave—until later, that is, when they found out it was all a lie. As soon as information reached them that Adanji had been seen consorting with thieves, they lost any sympathy they’d had and conducted a full search. Luckily, Adanji had feared something like this might happen and had swallowed the key on the way to the prison, while nobody was watching.

            Now she sat in her cell, staring at the walls, as she had nothing else to do but wait for the key to come back into her possession so she could clean it off and hide it in a pocket. The guards would not need to search her again; she had nothing to steal from her cell beyond a waste bucket. Hours went by. Though she was far from happy about her incarceration, she got to sleep as long as she desired for the first time since she’d joined the guild, something of which she took full advantage.

 

            The next morning she was awoken by the hushed whispers of two guards outside her cell.

            “Did you hear? There was another one yesterday, over by the Odai. Some poor sod went mad an’ tried to kill Dralosa Athren before fallin’ into the river!”

            “That’s not what I heard. Way the Tribunal priests put it, Dralosa’s got the soul sickness. She pushed ‘im in and started rantin’ ‘bout cults and Dreamers ‘n such. Heard she’s bein’ sent to the Ministry o’ Truth fer… _healin’._ ”

            “The Temple’s just tryin’ to keep things hush-hush. They know somethin’s not right an’ they don’t like it. It’s a threat to their power—Nine help ‘em if citizens start questionin’ the power of their Tribunal. Word is, they’re losin’ their power an’ can’t maintain the Ghostfence much longer. Not long before the Blight catches everyone an’ we all go mad.”

            “Careful what you say—priests’ll be after _you_ , next.”

            “Oiy!” Another guard entered the Moonmoth prison, “You know where the Khajiit’s being kept? Got her bail right here, and a letter for her.”

            That was curious, Adanji thought, sitting bolt upright. She’d expected to be here at least another month; probably more, for assaulting a noble with the intent of robbery. Of course, since she had technically not harmed him and, according to the guards, had not managed to steal anything, the sentence would probably have been shorter than she’d assumed. She stood, leaning on her cell door and resting her hands on the bars.

            “There she is.” The guard opened the door for her, handing her a letter, “Got friends in high places, eh? Lucky. This is for you—I got my eyes on you, come here again and I’m not sure I’ll accept such a quick bail.”

            “Right, right… ” Adanji said absently, quickly unfolding the letter. There were only two words and a set of initials, scrawled in neat cursive.

 

_See me._

_-CC_

   

            Adanji took a moment to realize who “CC” was, but then remembered Caius Cosades. She had just been fussing over the possible reasons for being sent here a few days ago, as she had often done since her arrival. The rest of the time had been spent trying to forget about the whole ordeal, forget about lost friends, and enjoy her new guild. She had not been particularly successful. She sighed heavily. The Empire had gotten her out of prison a second time—at least, Caius had. She would have to visit him after completing her business with Habasi. She at least owed him that much.

   

            “Got caught?” Habasi said dryly when Adanji arrived later that day, key in hand. She’d coughed it up after leaving the prison and washed it at the Odai. At least, she thought, that was a bit less disgusting than the other way, though it wasn’t particularly comfortable.

            “Yes. Your idea didn’t go quite as planned—Nerano didn’t trust the gift, so I was forced to improvise.” She watched Habasi closely, satisfied that her reaction to this news was a shocked one. “Nerano’s a real bastard, you know that?” This time Habasi didn’t look shocked, and only smiled lightly.

            “Did he give you too much trouble?”

            “No… he had me scared for a bit, and called the guards when I, ah, improvised…” She shrugged. “But I still have the key!” She handed it to the Mastermind.

            “Ah! This key pleases Habasi.” She smiled, holding out her hand, palm-up. Adanji saw a small, glittering pile of gold there. “Take this reward and, as promised, you are now a Wet Ear of the guild.”

            Adanji’s heart leaped. “You’re still promoting me?” she said, taking the gold. She hadn’t even expected to get paid after messing up so spectacularly, let alone advance in the Guild.

            “Adanji is not the first of us to get caught, and she was clever enough not to lose the key even when faced with unexpected turns of event. She even scared a fat noble witless—always a bonus.” She examined the key closely, her ears twitching, “Did you swallow this?”

            “Yes—don’t worry, I washed it off after...”

            Habasi accepted that, but dropped the key in her desk drawer instantly, not-so-discretely wiping her hand on her trousers. “By the way, you dropped something. Arathor is getting tired of fetching your things for you—your satchel is on your bunk.”

            Adanji thanked the Mastermind and, when she was certain she had no more duties for the day, excused herself—she still had to speak with Caius.

 

            Adanji remembered Caius’ instructions from her last visit and was careful not to be seen as she approached his house. Caius was at the door before she could knock. “Come in,” he growled.

            As soon as she was inside, much like last time, the door was shut and latched.

            “So. You joined the Thieves Guild.” His tone was stern and disapproving, though his expression betrayed nothing.

            “As a cover, yes,” Adanji said.

            “Uh-huh.” Skeptical.

            “Is that a problem?” she asked indignantly, “You’re a skooma addict. Supposedly. _As a cover_.”

            “Yes, as a cover.”

            “How is this different?”

            “I can control my cover identity. And I had assumed that, with the chance you were given, you might choose a more honorable path.”

            _Stupid, pig-headed, biased, holier-than-thou—_ “Why would you assume that?!” Adanji scoffed, “And why do you care?”

            “I _care_ because the Emperor, for some inexplicable reason, has placed his faith in you! He took note of you when no one else would, released you from prison, and gave you a position most people would kill for!” he growled. He spoke as passionately as Swims had whenever he talked about the Gray Fox. Adanji found herself deflating. “I’m not here to judge your life’s decisions but I’d hoped you would be more grateful.”

            “I _am,_ ” she said, realizing deep down that, somewhere along the line, this had become true. “I have a Guild—a job—food, a roof over my head. What more could I want?” Well, there was more, but that was gone from her forever and there was no use reaching—begging—for it.

            “Honor? But I don’t suppose criminals have any use for that.” He shook his head impatiently, “Just be careful. Attempted murder is not something we can ignore—”

            “Nerano? I had no intention of killing the man! I played a role to obtain a key. He assumed I was there to kill him and I had to make it convincing so he wouldn’t notice what I was really after.”

            “It was convincing, all right! You only get this one warning; next time you muck up, I’m not bailing you out again.”

            “Fine, _understood_!” There was a long silence between the two. Caius had actually made Adanji feel somewhat ashamed. More than ‘somewhat.’ She wasn’t sure why she even cared what he thought of her. Maybe it was because he was so damned sincere. To make matters worse, now she felt bad for thinking so poorly of the man. That wasn’t to say she fully trusted him, or liked him, but she could respect him, which might be better. She wasn’t sure, yet. “Thanks,” Adanji said at length, unable to meet his eyes. Her voice sounded choked and stiff. “For bailing me out.”

            “Yeah, well.” He cleared his throat and said gruffly, “I have a job for you. One that you couldn’t do behind bars.”

            She calmed a little, forcing her fur to lie flat and her ears to stand upright. “What do you want me to do?”

            He quirked a brow, “Generally we answer orders with ‘Yes, sir.’ I need you to go talk to Hasphat Antabolis at the Balmora Fighters Guild. Ask him what he knows about the Nerevarine secret cult and the Sixth House secret cult. You'll have to do him a favor first—probably an ugly favor—but do it. Then get the information from Antabolis and report back to me.”

            “Yes... Sir.” Adanji tried it out—the words felt weird in her mouth, as they had when she was playing slave to Nerano, but she supposed this was a little less demeaning.  Caius noted her attempt with a satisfied nod. “I’ve heard of the Sixth House. Nothing about a cult, but...” She hesitated, remembering the insanity of the previous day. “Some woman was rambling about it after her friend died—over by the Odai river? Does this have something to do with the cult?”

            Caius nodded grimly. “A trusted informant says they're a secret cult associated with some strange events recently—such as the supposed murder. Or suicide..? More importantly, my informant thinks these recent disturbances are related in some way to the Nerevarine Prophecies, but nothing else is known beyond that.”

            “What’s that?” She’d heard of the Sixth House, but nothing about a Nerevarine Prophecy. She wasn’t even sure what a Nerevarine was.

            “The Nerevarine Prophecies?” He shrugged, “Some Dunmer believe that an orphan and outcast will one day unite all the tribes of the Dunmer, drive out the ‘invaders’ of Morrowind, and reestablish the ancient laws and customs of the Dark Elven nations. They call this orphan and outcast the ‘Nerevarine,’ and say he will be a reincarnation of the long-dead Dunmer General and First Councilor, Lord Indoril Nerevar.” This was all news to Adanji—she could feel her eyes glazing over. “The Prophecies are mostly wrapped up in Ashlander culture, passed down by their wise women in the form of poetic verses, but I don’t know much more than that. That’s why I’m sending you to find out.”

            Adanji had at least heard of Ashlanders before. She’d heard the locals complaining about the illiterate ‘savages’ refusing to conform to Tribunal teachings. It seemed the Dunmer hated their ancient culture as much as they hated outlanders coming in and trying to change their current one. Still, she had a lot to learn.

            “You may be sent somewhere dangerous. I suggest you bring a weapon along with you, and some potions. You should also get some rest before heading out.” He pondered for a moment, scratching his chin, “One more thing. Hasphat is a student of Morrowind history. Take the chance to get a little education. And I have a few history books in here. Help yourself to them.”

            Caius had a lot of books, all stacked up against the wall or on the table, leaving barely enough room to sit and eat, and some even scattered open on his bed. She supposed the disorder of it all added to his appearance of a mad skooma addict, but the mere fact that he had so many books—which were expensive items—might lead many to question that identity. She eyed the books hungrily, if a bit apprehensively. She had lost count of how many times she had longed for a room stacked with nothing but books since Hides had shown her she could escape into stories like _Mystery of Talara_. She remembered bitterly the time Phintias had caught her and Hides lurking in his shop, First Edition, after hours, and chased them out. They had snuck in there many times to read, but that had been the last. “Where would I even begin?”

            He smiled briefly and, after a moment of searching, handed her a book from the stack on the table, “Jeanette Sitte's little book is a good place to start. Here, take it.” Adanji read the title as she took the ‘little’ book from him:   _A Short History of Morrowind._ “You might also look for _On Morrowind, the Imperial Province_ , by Erramanwe of Sunhold.” The conversation continued on the line of books and history for some time, and it was dark out by the time Adanji left, feeling a bit warmer towards the Imperial than she had initially believed she could. She decided to take Caius’ advice and get some rest; she would go see Hasphat in the morning.

 


	4. Raiders of the Lost Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adanji must travel to the heart of treacherous ruins to find a puzzle box. Can she live with her actions, there? Meanwhile, her time in Morrowind gets even more bizarre when she is confronted by a man calling himself a 'Sleeper.'

**Chapter Three**

Raiders of the Lost Box

 

            Adanji sat Akaviri-style in her bunk, _A Short History of Morrowind_ lying open in her lap. She’d been having trouble going to sleep, so she decided she’d read until sleep could take her. As most history books tend to be, _A Short History of Morrowind_ was dry and wordy, but there were a few parts she had found interesting.

_(from the Introduction)_

_‘...Led by the legendary prophet Veloth, the ancestors of the Dunmer, exiles from Altmer cultures in present-day Summerset Isles, came to the region of Morrowind. In earliest times the Dunmer were harassed or dominated by Nord sea raiders. When the scattered Dunmer tribes consolidated into the predecessors of the modern Great House clans, they threw out the Nord oppressors and successfully resisted further incursions._

_The ancient ancestor worship of the tribes was in time superseded by the monolithic Tribunal Temple theocracy, and the Dunmer grew into a great nation called Resdayn. Resdayn was the last of the provinces to submit to Tiber Septim; like Black Marsh, it was never successfully invaded, and was peacefully incorporated by treaty into the Empire as the Province of Morrowind..._

_(on Vvardenfell District)_

_...Local law became a mixture of House Law and Imperial Law in House Districts, jointly enforced by House guards and Legion guards, with Temple law and Imperial law enforced in the Temple district by Ordinators. The Temple was still recognized as the majority religion, but worship of the Nine Divines was protected by the legions and encouraged by Imperial cult missions..._

_...The Temple stubbornly fought all development in their district, and were largely successful…_

_...The Imperial administration faces many challenges in the Vvardenfell district, but the most serious are the Great House rivalries, animosity from the Ashlander nomads, internal conflicts within the Temple itself, and the Red Mountain blight. Struggles between Great House, Temple, and Imperial interests to control Vvardenfell's resource could at any time erupt into full-scale war. Ashlanders raid settlements, plunder caravans, and kill foreigners on their wild lands. The Temple has unsuccessfully attempted to silence criticism and calls for reform within its ranks._

_... Most serious are the plagues and diseased hosts produced by the blight storms sweeping out from Red Mountain. Vvardenfell and all Morrowind have long been menaced by the legendary evils of Dagoth Ur and his ash vampire kin dwelling beneath Red Mountain. For centuries the Temple has contained this threat within the Ghostfence. But recently the Temple's resources and will have faltered, and the threat from Red Mountain has grown in scale and intensity.If the Ghostfence should fail, and hosts of blighted monsters were to spill out across Vvardenfell's towns and villages, the Empire might have no choice but to evacuate Vvardenfell district and abandon it to disease and corruption...’_

            Well, Adanji thought, maybe the Emperor sending her to Morrowind had been a cruel form of punishment after all. The book continued on for several chapters involving other districts of Morrowind and their settlements, and it wasn’t long before Adanji drifted into sleep.  

 

            “Adanji. Wake up and come with me.” Habasi was at Adanji’s bunk, and her words were hushed, but enough to stir Adanji from her restless slumber.

            Adanji got up slowly, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She was certain there was no way she’d gotten more than an hour’s sleep. “What is it?” she whispered back, stretching and setting the book aside—she had unintentionally used it as a pillow and now one of the pages had some drool drying on it, smudging some of the ink. She hoped Caius wouldn’t mind.

            “Damn you… ash yams!” The two glanced over to a bunk in the corner. It appeared Chirranirr was dreaming, her tail twitching madly. “Cheese… for… everyone!” She rolled over and began to snore loudly. Adanji and the Mastermind exchanged amused glances.

            Habasi sobered and jerked her head toward the ladder up to South Wall, and Adanji followed her. In Phane’s store room, the Mastermind led Adanji through a hidden door behind some shelves, into what appeared to be an office. She sat down at her desk and gazed up at Adanji for a long moment, then held out some papers. “Habasi was right. Nerano did have treasures in his room.”

            Adanji gave her a questioning glance before skimming through the letters—which seemed entirely ordinary.

            “Information is treasure—sometimes the most precious kind,” Habasi said in response to Adanji’s puzzled expression. “It looks like House Hlaalu—or some of its members, like Nerano—have allied themselves with the Camonna Tong, and it seems both of them are into some troubling things.”

            Adanji quirked a brow at her leader, “I don’t see anything amiss.” Maybe it was because she was too tired to think clearly, or maybe Habasi genuinely was seeing things that weren’t there, as Arathor had suggested.

            “It is in code—using special phrases that appear ordinary to the untrained eye. But there is mention of a secret House. Some names are dropped. I think they’re in cahoots with whatever has been responsible for the disappearances lately.”

            “Why tell me?” She did her best to keep the skepticism from her voice. She was honored that Habasi had chosen to share this with her, but she wasn’t sure any of this knowledge was worth losing sleep over, given her recent insomnia.

            Habasi shrugged, “You got Habasi the key. You asked her why it was so important? This is it.”

            Adanji nodded, though she still didn’t understand how any of this was relevant. The letters looked ordinary and personal, and even if the Camonna Tong were involved in the strange goings-on, Adanji was certain it was none of her business. Best just stay out of it and keep their heads down. “Do you have another job for me, then?”

            “No. Not yet. I will be sending spies to watch certain Camonna Tong officials. Get more information…” She ticked her foreclaw on the cherry wood desk absently; judging by the thin scratches on its polished surface, it seemed she did that a lot. “Getting into Dren Plantation will be difficult,” she muttered more to herself than to Adanji, “Habasi may have new jobs for you later. Until then, we have other guild halls throughout Vvardenfell—specifically in Ald’ruhn, at The Rat In The Pot, and Dirty Muriel’s, near Wolverine Hall in Sadrith Mora. If you find yourself in either of these locations before this one has another job for you, ask around—they may have work you can do.”

            “Ok.” Adanji yawned. “An-anything else?” Habasi shook her head, and Adanji let her get back to her conspiracy theories.

“The chairs...” Chirranirr muttered as Adanji entered their room, “They are arranged so strangely… why do they not fall down?”

She smiled at the sleeping Khajiit, wondering what could possibly be going on in her head. As she slipped back into bed, determined to get a full night’s sleep, a thought occurred to her. Habasi had mentioned a secret house. If this happened to be the Sixth House, Habasi could be right about the involvement with the disappearances. Caius had said the same thing hadn’t he, something about disturbances? She still had no desire to get involved, of course, but in her quest tomorrow to gather information she may have little choice. Her sleep that night was uneasy.

 

            “Hasphat?” Adanji approached the middle-aged Imperial in the basement of the Fighter’s Guild where Caius had said he’d be. He was balding, and what remained of his brown hair was slicked back and pulled into the stumpiest ponytail Adanji had ever seen.

            “That’s me.” His eyes swept over her dismissively, “Who are you? If you want us to kill something, go talk to Eydis Fire-Eye upstairs.”

            Adanji had spoken to her, briefly. The Nord had a chip on her shoulder. She had first asked Adanji if she was lost, then called her a waif, unfit to join the Fighter’s guild. Why she had assumed that was Adanji’s goal was beyond her, but Eydis had seemed thrilled when she found out Adanji only wished to talk to one of her subordinates. “That’s not why I’m here. Caius sent me. He wants—”

            “Ah! You’re the one he’s sent for information? Well, I’m afraid you won’t get it for free.”

            “Yeah, he said that would probably be the case.” At least Caius had warned her.

            “Then we understand each other? Good. There are Dwemer ruins nearby called Arkngthand. I need you to run over there and find me a little cube with a circular design and some symbols on one side. It's called a ‘Dwemer puzzle box’. Bring the puzzle box to me, and I'll tell you what you want to know.”

            She was curious as to how exactly he knew the puzzle box was there, and why he didn’t already have it. Perhaps he had been in the ruins before, but had not thought the item was worth taking, or was forced to leave sooner than expected? Or maybe he had sources of his own. “Where is Ark.. Arkn...” Adanji fumbled with the word, then gave up, “Where’s the ruin?”

            “You know where Fort Moonmoth is, just southeast of Balmora?” Adanji nodded. “Arkngthand is just east of there. You can see the old metal towers peeking over the mountains overlooking the Fort. If you take the left fork on the way to the Fort, follow that across an ancient Dwemer bridge—you can’t miss it, it’s huge and made of metal. The entrance to the ruin will be on your right. Turn a crank on a nearby pipe to open the doors.”

Adanji repeated the directions back to him, making sure she had it down in her head. “And what do you need with this puzzle box?”

“They hold information, that’s all, but that’s none of your concern. Here’s something you’ll actually _need_ to know. The Dwemer ruins often have strange, deadly traps, and when they don’t they’re usually crawling with smugglers...”Adanji had heard something about smugglers from Arathor. He’d said that Dwemer artifacts were prized by historians and antiquarians, and were invaluable. Recently, however, the Emperor had declared all newly discovered Dwemer artifacts to be possessions of the crown and had forbidden their sale. Now smuggling the artifacts was considered treason, but smugglers would still risk execution for such a profitable crime.

This also meant that the smugglers didn’t want to get caught, and would attack any potential witnesses on sight. Which begged another question...

“...Some are known to contain centurions—living constructs—in their lower levels, so be sure and prepare yourself for danger. Proper armor and weapons could go a long way—”

“I hope this information is worth it,” Adanji interrupted, “I’m not too thrilled with the idea of getting my head chopped off over an artifact I don’t even need or want.”

“So don’t get caught. You’re a thief, aren’t you?” He grinned at her expression. She wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten that information. Perhaps word of her arrest had gotten out? Or maybe Caius had sent a bit of information ahead of her, so Hasphat would know what he was dealing with. If that was the case, she didn’t appreciate it one bit. “Just think of this as a challenge.”

“Right.” She wasn’t entirely convinced.

“If it makes you feel any better, if Caius wants this information, it’s important.”

She nodded slowly. She supposed this was at least somewhat mollifying. “What can you tell me about the ruins, themselves?”

“They’re all that remains of the extinct Dwemer. The artifacts left behind are treasured by mages, who want to steal lost magic from them, and scholars who want to gain fame by being the first to discover what happened to the Dwarves. No one knows the answer to that question, and we probably never will. I’m somewhat of an expert on the Dwemer and _I_ don’t know the answer to that. As I said, they’ll be dangerous, though Arkngthand is relatively small, for a Dwemer ruin.”

Small was excellent. Maybe if the ruins were small enough Adanji wouldn’t have too much trouble finding the puzzle box. Honestly, though, she couldn’t help but wonder why Caius would send her to gather this information. If indeed it was important, why would he send a recruit so wet behind the ears to obtain it? She wondered if it was important that _she_ know the information, if it had anything at all to do with her being sent here, but that was just stupid, and reeked of conspiracy. Maybe it was a test of her skills? If she survived she might be useful for other tasks and if she did not then clearly the Emperor had made a mistake in sending her here. She wondered what the old man was thinking, back in that White Gold tower, what he knew that she didn’t.

That led to the question of why she was even going through with this. What would she gain from it? She had to wonder... Maybe if she just did as she was told she might eventually learn why she had been sent here in the first place. Maybe she could gain some insight into what he was planning? But how much would even that information matter to her, if she was dead?

 _‘Information is treasure—sometimes the most precious kind...’_ Habasi’s words echoed in her mind, and she realized she’d had a point. Besides, if she just ran away, there was a high chance the ever resourceful Blades would find her and ensure she was punished. That letter she had received upon her arrival to Morrowind had made that crystal clear.

 

***

Adanji had just left Nalcarya’s shop, and hanging about her hip was a new bottle pouch containing three healing potions and one to cure diseases. She had learned from the locals that wandering outside of the larger settlements in Morrowind could be dangerous, and that one of those many dangers was disease. Blight was a constant fear, of course, carried on the air with the ash storms blowing in from Red Mountain, and often carried by the local wildlife. The Blight itself was a simple enough cure, but if untreated it could lead to corprus which, judging by the reactions of the locals just mentioning it, was a dreadful disease, and had no known cure.

Now she just needed a weapon and armor.

Meldor’s Armory was right across from the Fighters’ and Mages’ Guild Halls, in the commercial district.  The Bosmer’s selection of armor was decent, ranging between light leather armors and heavy iron sets. He had plenty that were pre-made, lower quality armor sets that were made to fit a range of body types, which were cheaper. While Adanji had gained some weight since joining the Guild, none of the armors were quite snug enough for her except around the hips, all of them far too loose around her flat chest and narrow shoulders. Meldor had taken her measurements, commenting rudely on her being built like a young boy, and told her she would have to wait at least two weeks before the proper modifications could be made to the smallest set of netch leather armor he’d had in stock.

Even cheap armor was expensive, Adanji realized. She’d paid half up front and that alone was almost two hundred drakes. The dagger she now carried had been much more reasonable, at only 80 drakes. She was lucky the Thieves’ Guild paid well. Despite her lack of armor, Adanji felt a strong desire to go to Arkingthand and get the task behind her. Caius didn’t seem like a particularly patient man, however honorable, and she never knew how long the Blades might wait before deciding to kill her for ‘abandoning’ her duties. At least she could scout the place out. If it was full of smugglers, she could simply leave, explain the situation to Caius, and come back later, when she was ready.

 _No use putting it off,_ she thought. With her potions and weapon, at least she wasn’t completely unprepared.

 

Fort Moonmoth was situated between a hill that sloped gently upward, and sharp, gray rock which towered high above it and dipped down into valleys beyond, carved out over time by the lava which sometimes flowed down from Red Mountain. Foyadas, the locals called these natural paths—“Fire Rivers,” when translated to Cyrodilic.  Though the paths were often treacherous, the crags on either side occupied by flocks of hostile cliffracers, it didn’t stop the locals from using them as roads when the lava was cooled and hard.

A heavy mist hung on the air, obscuring the sharp rocky walls, yet she could still see an immense red, swirling shape looming ominously ahead of her. An ash storm, she realized as she drew nearer. She’d seen plenty of ash storms before, but only at a distance, ever billowing out from Red Mountain. She’d never been in one. She paused for a moment, considering her options. Ash Storms were notoriously dangerous. She could turn back now, but would she reach Balmora in time? She was so close to the ruins as it was. If she turned back and the storm caught up to her, she would be walking in it for a mile and may get turned around. She took a deep breath. Arkngthand was just across that bridge. She would make a run for it.

It was as she crossed the Dwemer bridge that she caught the full force of it. Visibility was limited to the hand she held in front of her face, and she could not breathe. She lifted the collar of her shirt up over her nose, creating a filter to keep the ash out of her mouth and lungs. Wind roared in her ears. The dust and sand stung her squinting eyes and the ash pelted her with such force it felt as though dozens of tiny pebbles were being flung at her.

It was a relief when she finally reached the ruin, though it wasn’t far from the bridge. Through a lull in the storm she could see it clearly spanned a vast distance underground. _And it was supposed to be small?_ Peculiar bronze towers stood all about, some leaning so precariously it was a miracle they were still standing. A pipe jutting from the ground held a single crank, which Hasphat had said was the only means of opening the heavy, dome-like doors to the ruin. With a bit of effort, she turned the ancient crank and ran as quickly as she could to the entrance, barely squeezing inside before the doors closed again behind her. She wondered briefly if she would be able to get out, but saw another crank on the wall and her concerns were eased. She shook herself firmly, swiping at her arms in an attempt to loosen the dust and grime from her fur, but it was useless.

            Arkngthand was warmer than Adanji had expected an underground ruin to be. In fact, it was almost sweltering. It seemed alien, with its geometric metal and rough stone cavern walls. Thick, coppery tubes that ran through the place, jutting out, bending, disappearing into the stone and shadows, were inscribed in ancient writing Adanji had never seen before and couldn’t begin to decipher. Boxes and crates of Dwemer goods piled near the entrance suggested smugglers were present. _That’s no good. I can’t turn back now, not with that storm carrying on,_ Adanji thought desperately. Even through the thick metal doors she could hear it raging outside.

She resolved to move quietly. If she could keep hidden, maybe she could leave when the storm died down, or maybe she could find a place to wait until the smugglers left? Then she could have all the time in the world to search at her leisure. As she slunk along the shadows, she heard bizarre buzzing noises. There was the occasional hiss of steam she could see clearly puffing from the many pipes that lined the walls or poked up out of the ground. A constant, grating screech and metallic ticking filled the air and all of it made her uneasy. Arkngthand seemed to be alive, its metal walls, gears and wheels gyrating of their own accord, like gargantuan metal innards powering some ancient, unknowable beast.

            A gout of scalding steam suddenly erupted from beneath Adanji’s feet and she nearly jumped out of her fur. Scrambling for solid ground, she had to clap her hands over her mouth to keep herself from crying out in alarm. She found herself face-down on the cool stone floor, and stood up shakily, tail lashing back and forth. Her feet hurt; she was certain the pads had been burned.

            “You hear that?” a voice echoed from below. Adanji held perfectly still, jaw clenched tight as she held her breath.

            “Hnn?” Silence. “Naw... This place’s makin’ yeh jumpy.” Adanji chanced a glance down over her stone platform, noting that she was well hidden in shadow. There were two men below, a Nord and a Redguard from the look of them. They were sitting near a small fire, over which a leg of nix hound was cooking on a spit.

            “Ha. You got that right.” The Redguard shuddered, “Hope Boss finds what he’s lookin’ for soon.”

            “That puzzle box’ll fetch a nice price from the right buyer. Be patient.”

            _Puzzle box?_ Adanji’s eyes widened. If these smugglers were hunting for the same box she was, then she was glad she’d decided against waiting for her armor. In two weeks, the puzzle box would likely not even be there anymore and she would have no way of tracking it down. Unfortunately, that meant she would have to find the puzzle box before the smugglers did, which would be dangerous; smugglers weren’t known for sharing.

            Adanji waited, breathing slowly and silently, ears strained for the tiniest sound. She hoped to sneak by the smugglers when they were asleep, but the hours dragged by. She heard a number of conversations between them, the awkward sort of small-talk one makes when silence gets uncomfortable. It was soon clear to her that the two had no love for each other, no sense of camaraderie. They were in it for the money and when they had it they would go their separate ways.

She heard the scrambling of feet on gravel and peered over the edge to see the men leave the yawning chamber below, climbing up a ladder and into a smaller room to the east, likely in search of more artifacts. She waited longer, until their voices disappeared, then slunk down a circular ramp carved into the cavern wall, down into the chamber. Her heart was beating heavily now, as she saw just how many doors there were to the place, each leading to a different room or hallway. Arkngthand was huge, and the Dwemer puzzle box was small. For all she knew, it was buried under rubble.

            On a hunch, she rifled through the bags the two smugglers had left near the fire, hoping that perhaps one of them had already discovered their prize and was keeping it all for himself. She emptied one sack and found nothing of value—mostly clothing and the like. She was rummaging around in the other when heard voices returning and she spun about, staring wildly. She was out in the open, clearly visible in the firelight.

The men had seen her. Fear rooted her to the spot.

            “Did Boss hire any Khajiit on this little expedition?” the Redguard asked, drawing his sword.

            “No.” The Nord gripped his axe, a nasty smirk pulling the corners of his twisted, scarred lips. “How much yeh think she’d be worth on the slave market?” Her fur stood on end.

            “Too scrawny for that. She’d be useless, but my wife’s been wanting a new coat!” Then, as if on cue, the two lunged at her, weapons raised.

Adanji regained control of her legs just in time to dart out of the way, claws digging into the ground, scrambling for purchase. She tripped over a large stone, cutting her hands on the gravel when she fell. She spun around just in time to throw herself back as a sword slashed where her chest had been—she felt it slice a thin line down her torso anyway. It stung, but at least it wasn’t fatal. Desperate, she snatched a handful of gravel, among it a sizable rock, and threw it at the Redguard. He cried out as the bits of rock caught his face, hand clapping over his eyes where the gravel and dust had temporarily blinded them. He unintentionally backed right into the Nord, stomping on his foot in the process.

With the two men distracted, Adanji regained her footing, gripping her dagger firmly in hand, though it felt as though she may as well have been wielding a feather, small and helpless as she was against her assailants. With the Redguard still distracted, even being pushed aside by his exasperated Nord companion, the Khajiit decided it would be best to focus her full attention on the Nord, who was again swinging his axe at her. It was a slow, clumsy weapon, but it would be deadly if it hit her, capable of lopping a head from its shoulders. She dodged left and right, ducked low, each move driving her away from her enraged opponent.

Unencumbered by armor or heavy weapons, Adanji didn’t tire as quickly as the Nord, who was noticeably slowing down, panting and scowling at her in murderous rage. One last swing and Adanji was unable to back up any further, the cavern wall at her back. She ducked, feeling the axe swing dangerously close to her head, cutting a nick in her ear and clanging deafeningly against the stone wall. With the clear opening ahead of her, she lunged forward, driving her dagger deep into the Nord’s stomach, luck finding a gap in the leather he wore. They toppled, Adanji finding herself on top of the Nord, who coughed up blood, but was still alive. He reached for his axe, which had clattered to the ground just out of reach, intent on taking Adanji with him. Panicking, she ripped the blade out of his stomach and thrust it up into his throat, through his mouth and into his brain. He twitched, let out one last, rattling breath and was still.

Adanji stood tremulously, retrieving her dagger with some effort, and spun to see the Redguard recovering, rubbing irritably at his eyes with the back of one hand, his sword gripped firmly in the other. Though his eyes were bloodshot, one of them bleeding, it was clear he could see her. He let out an enraged scream and charged, sword pointed at her chest. She rolled out of the way at the last moment, kicking the man in the side before he could correct his course. She should have stabbed him, she realized, but it was too late for that. He spun, swinging his sword in one controlled motion that clipped Adanji’s shoulder.

Adanji screamed in pain, quite certain he had hit bone, and fell back, landing with the sound of crunching glass. Her heart raced as she glared up at the man. She had been lucky the blade hadn’t hit a little higher, slashing her throat, but now it looked like he had the upper hand. He raised his sword, about to slash down at her when she kicked him again, this time her bare, clawed foot jamming right into his groin with as much force as she could muster. He crumpled, loosening his grip on his sword, and fell forward, landing onto Adanji’s dagger right as she drew it to deliver a killing blow.

She panted, shivering as the adrenaline wore off and she began to feel her wounds. With tremendous effort, she pushed the dead Redguard up just enough to slide out from under him. She could have died, she realized. She could have died and it wasn’t skill that had saved her. It had been pure luck. Another shiver ran down her spine and she reached down to the belt at her hip, hoping to find one of her potions there, but found to her horror that all the bottles had shattered at some point during the battle—probably when she fell. She was bleeding heavily and in a lot of pain and she had no idea if she could get to Balmora in time to reach a healer.

 _I just killed someone._ A sob racked her body. _I could have died!_ She realized she could still die from blood loss if she didn’t find help or a potion and she could feel her pulse rising once more. Leaning forward, trying not to be sick, she frantically dug around in the knapsacks of the fallen men, hoping they might have had potions on them. There was nothing. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears, along with her pulse, and her breath came in deep and ragged—she was certain she would die here.

Suddenly the ring about her finger began to glow. She had gotten so used to its subtle gleaming and warmth over the past few weeks that she’d forgotten all about it. She had tried to sell it not two weeks after reaching Balmora, but had decided not to when she found that she wouldn’t get more than forty drakes out of it. Now it shone golden like the sun and a strong vibration spread through her fingers, a gentle heat rushing through her body. Then agony gripped her and her throat closed around a gasp, leaving her to cringe silently as her wounds began to heal. Muscle and sinew stitched themselves together, blood flow slowed and stopped as scar tissue formed over the gashes in her body. Then the ring cooled and went dark, almost as if it had died, and the pain ebbed away.  

She gaped at the ring in wonder. It had lost its glow entirely, and she had a feeling that it wouldn’t be saving her life again anytime soon. _Lucky._ Swims had often called her that, though she hadn’t felt particularly lucky in some time. She remembered reading somewhere that those born under the sign of the Thief were commonly blessed with luck, though she had never put much stock in that theory. Yet if she hadn’t noticed the ring glimmering in that barrel all those weeks ago, or had decided forty drakes were well worth it… She stood, shaking herself, and tried not to look at the bodies at her feet. Not seeing them didn’t put them out of her mind, however, and after taking barely a step she doubled over and retched, shuddering yet again.

She put her hands on her knees to steady herself, and took long, deep breaths, slowly letting them out, then wiped her mouth. _They tried to kill me,_ she reasoned, _it was self defense._ Somehow that didn’t do much for the guilt. She had fought people before, other beggars on the streets when times were more tough than usual. She’d lost a lot of fights and won some others, and perhaps winning that scrap of food had won her and Swims an extra day to live, and caused her opponent to starve. But she didn’t know that for certain, and had never killed someone outright. Her fingers were still trembling.

She’d been sitting there in stunned silence for about an hour, the tears streaming steadily down her cheeks. She thought about leaving, puzzle box be damned, but that would get her nowhere. She needed the puzzle box to get Hasphat’s information for Caius, and if she simply left after everything she’d just gone through then it would all have been for nothing.

She forcefully wiped away her tears and began her search with a new resolve, keeping to the shadows where possible. She didn’t find any more opposition for some time, and began paying closer attention to the ruin itself. She’d found out where the buzzing noise had come from; unnatural lights hung above doors or were socketed into walls. They were pale blue, resembling magic, contained in glass tubes, but magic didn’t hum—it chimed like a bell. The sole exception was when a mage summoned lightning, but this was too constant for that. Heat radiated from the lights like fire, and Adanji found it both fascinating and unnerving.

The doors to the place were all round and, as with everything else Dwemer, metal. They screeched when opened, and every time Adanji froze, perking her ears to pick up on any noise, eyes darting left and right in search of possible opposition. She found none, and though she had seen a number of interesting artifacts, she had yet to find the puzzle box. Finally, she came to the southernmost door in the west wing, and when she pushed it open, she saw the back of a bald, tattooed Imperial in heavy armor. It was no use hoping he wouldn’t have heard the door creaking open, but she held her breath anyway.

“Frink, that you?” He turned, and after a brief moment of confusion, narrowed his eyes. “I don’t remember hiring any Khajiit.” His hand fell to the war axe at his hip. “Explain yourself.”

“I was just exploring,” she lied, simultaneously cursing herself for not thinking of a better one.

He studied her torn shirt, noting the blood stains in her clothes and fur, “And my men?”

Adanji realized there was really no use lying any more—the truth was obvious. He had seen it. “They’re dead.” Maybe if she was lucky he would be intimidated, but she knew that was probably too much to hope for.

He smirked. “Then I should thank you. That’s more money for me, and fewer voices to silence.” Adanji’s fur stood on end at the malice dripping from those words. He gripped his axe in both hands and attacked.

All Adanji could do was duck and dodge. There was no way her dagger would penetrate his iron cuirass, and she didn’t think she could get close enough to get at his exposed face and throat. He kept her on the defensive and she realized with horror that he had much more endurance than the Nord had. He didn’t look as though he would tire any time soon and while Adanji’s wounds were healed enough not to bleed, they were still tender, slowing her down. She would either have to flee, or think of an alternative quickly.

As she dodged another blow, the axe cut into a pipe, hot steam erupting from the rent. _There it is_ , she thought. She snatched up the pipe, gritting her teeth against the mild pain from its heat, and aimed it directly at the Imperial’s face. He recoiled from the blast of burning steam, arms flinging up to guard his eyes. Adanji dropped the pipe, lunging forward with her full weight and knocking him into the pile of rubble behind him. Another broken pipe jutted out of it, this one rigid and ending in a point. The pipe managed to puncture his armor and pierced a lung. Adanji backed away, hands balled into trembling fists, as he reached feebly for her throat, coughing up blood all the while.

A part of Adanji yearned to pick up his axe and cleave his skull with it, but whether this was a need to put him out of his misery or some twisted desire to get even, she did not know. She ignored it either way. Unlike the others, he was no longer in any position to harm her, and if she killed him now, even to end his suffering, it would feel too much like murder and she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t die soon anyway. She did her best to ignore his agonized, gurgling gasps for breath as she picked through the ruins, scouring the area for the little Dwemer cube.

            Finally, she found what she had been searching for: a box, slightly bigger than her fist, apparently composed of copper and bronze, though it appeared as if it had been made only yesterday—there was no hint of corrosion. The Dwemer had disappeared millennia ago, a mystery for the ages, as Hasphat had mentioned. Little circular designs were imprinted into the cube, as well as some more angular, straight lines, which spanned its width and connected the circular lines. It was also unnaturally heavy. Adanji couldn’t help but wonder how such a cube could contain any information, let alone how one might obtain such information from it. She noticed an unusual silence had fallen and looked around, over to where the Imperial had been impaled.  He lay still and silent as the grave. A shudder ran down Adanji’s spine and she felt nauseous again. _Self defense._ She reminded herself firmly, though it hardly helped.

            Standing, she dusted off the knees of her trousers and placed the too-heavy puzzle box into her satchel. She considered picking up a few of the other artifacts she’d seen and fencing them to Phane, but knew there would be too many questions about where she had found them that would be difficult to answer. All she truly wanted was to put the ruin behind her. The trip back to the surface was long, quiet, and uneventful. She was grateful for the latter. The ash storm had died down by the time she left, though ash and grime covered the ground in a thick layer all the way to Balmora. _Curious,_ she thought. Ash storms, according to the locals, rarely reached Balmora, though they sometimes came close, and Adanji had never seen one come this far herself.

 

***

“Back for more training?” Hasphat said loudly as Adanji entered the basement. Adanji cocked her head to the side then, hearing what the problem was, peeked over her shoulder. They were not alone; a woman in light armor was in the corner, punching a meter-long, burlap sack stuffed with straw.

“Ah, yes,” she said, trying and failing to sound enthusiastic.

“Could you give us some space, Flaenia?” Hasphat asked the woman. She glowered at him.

“You need a whole basement to train a scrawny little kitten?”

“She gets stage fright. I mean—look at her! How could you blame her?” Adanji didn’t react. Flaenia scowled, but after a few moments kicked the bag hard enough for it to fall from its hook and left. “Thank you, kindly!” Hasphat called after her, his gaze following her swaying hips as she went. He turned to Adanji and lowered his voice. “So, what do you have for me?” Adanji rummaged around in her satchel and handed him his prize. “Hmm, yes. This is exactly what I was looking for.” Hasphat examined the box closely, though he didn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed by its weight or design. After a long silence he finally looked up at her. “You alright? You look like something’s bothering you.”

“I had to kill people...” she said quietly, not even sure why she was telling this man her problems. He was in the Fighters’ Guild. They killed all the time, for money and ‘honor’.

“Ah! First time?” He clapped her shoulder, causing her to flinch and her knees to buckle. “Don’t worry about it. It gets easier. And they probably deserved it anyway.”

Adanji shook her head. She wasn’t sure killing was something she could get used to, but if Caius’ jobs continued along this line, she would probably have to. She didn’t relish the idea. “I fulfilled my end of the deal,” she snapped, a little more harshly than she’d intended, “Now what information can you give me?”

Hasphat withdrew his hand, all traces of humor gone from his eyes. “I don’t have much on the Nerevarine Cult. I deal in facts, not silly prophecies and fairytales. Tell Caius that Sharn gra-Muzgob over at the Mages’ guild would be a better person to ask about that. She knows all about native religion and superstitions.”

Adanji’s heart sank. She really hoped she hadn’t just delved into a Dwemer ruin, risked her life and stolen others for absolutely nothing. She remembered Caius specifically mentioning that one of his informants had insisted the Nerevarine Prophecies were important. She had assumed that was Hasphat, but obviously she was wrong. “And the Sixth House Cult?” she asked, a definite edge to her voice.

“House Dagoth is the Sixth House, the supposedly ‘lost’ Sixth House. In the First Age, House Dagoth betrayed the other Great Houses during the War of the First Council, and was destroyed for their treason. I can answer any questions you have, but I’ll also give you some notes to give to Caius, and recommend some Sixth House references he should read.” He scrawled something on a note that looked as if it had already been prepared and handed it to her.

She flicked open the letter and, as Hasphat made no attempt to stop her, read it through.

 

_House Dagoth is an extinct Great House. In the wake of the ancient Battle of Red Mountain, its leadership was revealed to have plotted treason, and was discredited. Many of House Dagoth died defending the House; those survivors who were faithful to the Great Council were redistributed among the other houses. The Temple says the ancient, legendary evil beings that dwell beneath Red Mountain in the Dagoth Ur region are the original leaders of this extinct house, sustained by some powerful, evil sorcery._

_ ‘Other References: _

_These books include references to the Sixth House and its destruction. The bookseller Dorisa Darvel over in the Commercial District might have copies._

_THE WAR OF THE FIRST COUNCIL_

_SAINT NEREVAR_

_NEREVAR MOON-AND-STAR_

_THE REAL NEREVAR’_

 

            “What exactly can you tell me about the cult?” she said when she’d finished reading. She was a little disappointed that there were no clues as to why she’d been sent here, but she wasn’t really surprised. She supposed that was the advantage of being pessimistic; surprises only came when good things happened, and then they were pleasant.

            “I’ve heard something about a secret cult worshipping Dagoth Ur. They believe that the Tribunal are false gods who’ve betrayed Morrowind to the Imperials. The cult plans to overthrow the Temple and drive the Empire from Morrowind. They’re outlawed by the Temple, the Great Houses, and the Empire. They’re not very popular, as you can see. I’ve also heard there’s some connection with smuggling... that they smuggle goods, or hire smugglers, or something like that.”

            Adanji thought again of Dralosa. There was the rumor that the woman had been arrested by the Temple... If the Sixth House Cult was outlawed by the Temple, maybe that was why Dralose had been arrested; she had specifically mentioned the Sixth House when her friend had drowned. But that seemed a bit drastic—arresting someone for even mentioning the Cult. Then there was Dralosa’s friend, who had appeared to have gone mad. Adanji didn’t want to think about what it could mean if some cult was affecting people’s minds. “Are they connected to the disappearances and murders?”

            He shrugged, “Seems like the most probable theory, doesn’t it?”

            “And Dagoth Ur? Who is that?” The name had appeared in _A Short History of Morrowind,_ but it hadn’t exactly explained who he was.

            “Dagoth Ur was the leader of the extinct Sixth House. I think he was once known as a hero—the right hand and advisor to Indoril Nerevar. Now, according to myth, he’s the evil, immortal enemy of the Tribunal Temple cult. The Temple blames Dagoth Ur and his hosts for all the evils that beset the Dunmer and Morrowind. Dagoth Ur dwells in fiery caverns beneath Red Mountain, served by his kin and legions of monsters. Not much else is known about him, but there are whispers that the corprus is his doing, and has something to do with why so many people are going mad.” He rolled his eyes in apparent disgust, “Local superstition and foolish nonsense. That’s all.”

            Adanji wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t the most superstitious person in the world, but something about all of this caused the fur to rise on her spine.

            “Is there anything else you need?”

            Adanji shook her head, thinking about all he’d told her. She supposed if the Sixth House was truly behind the murders and disappearances, it might explain the Emperor’s interest in them, but the mention of the possibility of an evil, immortal being sitting at its core gave her a sinking feeling. This was likely bigger than cults, and she was getting involved—possibly as more than just some courier. It was late—it already had been by the time she’d returned to Balmora—and she needed rest. In the morning she would swing by Dorisa Darvel’s bookstore and see if she had any of the references Hasphat had mentioned, then report to Caius.

 

***

            It was dark and the air was unusually still after the storm. A thick layer of ash still covered the ground, and in the pale moonlight it looked almost like snow, leaving behind footprints wherever anyone had walked in it. As Adanji crossed the middle bridge over the Odai into Labor Town, a dark figure grabbed her arm firmly. She whirled, too tired and emotionally drained to deal with some drunk—but then she saw the eyes.

The Dunmer who held her seemed in a trance. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes had become solid black. He spoke, and his tone was flat, as if in a stupor. “I am a Sleeper, one among thousands. I bring you a message. Dagoth Ur calls you, Adanji, and you cannot deny your Lord. The Sixth House is risen, and Dagoth Ur is its glory.”

Adanji froze. How did he know her name? She had never seen this man in her life! Suddenly, cold dread sunk into her gut as if she’d swallowed a ball of ice. She jerked, trying to pull out of his grip, but it was like iron. Where were all the guards when she needed them? “Let go of me.”

He began rambling, his tone never changing, though somehow he seemed to grow more excited with each word. “We are calling you. The Sleepers. The Sixth House. The Sleeping House. House Dagoth—the House of Lord Dagoth! The true house. The one house to welcome all true Dunmer, and drive the n’wah from our glorious land.” Then his voice rose, and he was all but screaming. “Take heed, outlander! The day of reckoning is at hand. Take what you can and leave this place, for when Lord Dagoth comes, this will be no place for you.”

“Yeah? Tell me more about this ‘Lord’ Dagoth of yours, will you? Seems like a really nice guy,” she growled, attempting to use sarcasm to hide her panic as she clawed at his hand. She noticed it begin to slip, his grip loosening.

“He is the Lord, and Father of the Mountain. He sleeps, but when he wakes we shall rise from our dreams, shall sweep the land clean of the n’wah. Why have you denied him? As Lord Dagoth has said, ‘All shall greet him as flesh, or as dust.’” A horrible, deranged smirk pulled his lips and he started to back Adanji towards the edge of the bridge.

            Finally, she managed to wrench herself free. She felt the urge to punch the man or push him into the river, but more than that she just wanted to _escape._ As soon as she was out of reach she spun and fled as fast as she could, all the way to the South Wall cornerclub. She slammed the door shut behind her, leaned against it until she slid to the floor, and shook, tears springing to her eyes. Sobs racked her shoulders, shaking her body and disturbing the raw scars from her fight. She noticed her entrance had gotten her some curious looks from her guild mates, but she ignored them, resting her head in her palms.

“Is Adanji ok?”

She gazed up through blurry eyes to see Habasi standing over her. “Rough day...” she muttered, sniffling and drying her eyes.

The mastermind studied Adanji’s tattered, blood-stained shirt and her disheveled appearance. “Habasi sees that.” She helped Adanji to her feet. “You look exhausted.”

“I am,” she admitted.

“You want to talk about it? Habasi makes a good listener.” Her tone was sincere.

Adanji gave her a feeble smile. It didn’t stick. “Not right now.” Probably not ever. While Habasi had indeed proven to be a good listener, Adanji didn’t want her to know where she’d been since it was Blades business and, given the Guild’s stance on killing, she did not want the Mastermind knowing what she’d done. “Thanks.” It was tacked on but better than nothing.

Habasi nodded, choosing not to press the matter for once.

Adanji scarfed down a quick meal at Phane’s bar, though she didn’t feel particularly hungry, half heartedly laughed at one of Arathor’s jokes, and went to bed.

Her night was fitful.

 

_She found herself in a dark room, a dim red glow all around her. There was heat—intense and sweltering. She could barely breathe. She looked up from where she was lying, and found that she could not stand. A man in a golden mask stared down at her. A voice—she was certain it came from the masked figure—began to speak, although it echoed deafeningly around her, so loud and rumbling she could barely understand the words. It sounded as if they were being spoken by thousands of men, all with the same eerily affable voice, which made it feel all the more menacing._

_“I AM THE SHARMAT!”_

 

_The ground shook when he spoke. It was as if Red Mountain was on the verge of explosion._

 

_“I AM OLDER THAN MUSIC._

_WHAT I BRING IS LIGHT!_

_WHAT I BRING IS A STAR!_

_WHAT I BRING IS_

_AN ANCIENT SEA!_

_WHEN YOU SLEEP YOU SEE ME_

_DANCING AT THE CORE!_

_IT IS NOT A BLIGHT,_

_IT IS MY HOUSE._

_I PUT A STAR_

_INTO THE WORLD'S MOUTH_

_TO MURDER IT!_

_TEAR DOWN THE PYLONS_

_MY BLIND FISH,_

_SWIM IN THE NEW_

_PHLOGISTON._

_TEAR DOWN THE PYLONS_

_MY DEAF MOONS,_

_SING AND BURN_

_AND ORBIT ME!_

_I AM OLDER THAN MUSIC_

_WHAT I BRING IS LIGHT_

_WHAT I BRING IS A STAR_

_WHAT I BRING IS_

_AN ANCIENT SEA”_

 

_He reached toward her, his hand hovering inches from her face. All went black._

 

            Adanji awoke with a gasp. All around her, her guildmates slept, which meant it must be late in the morning. She must have gotten at least ten hours of sleep, though she felt as though she had gotten none. She fell back into her bunk, stretching her stiff, sore muscles and staring at the bunk above her, listening to the gentle breathing of her guild and taking some small comfort in it. She tried to remember just what had scared her so much, but the harder she tried, the less she could recall. It was like trying to grasp at water or wind. She shook her head in frustration, then took a few calming breaths.

Tired or not, she had to get up and get her information to Caius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the messed up formatting. I recently edited these chapters based on very helpful reviews, but am to busy (just for the moment) to fix the unusual paragraph indents. I will try to get around to that ASAP (probably at the end of NaNoWriMo).


	5. Getting a Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adanji gets some helpful advice and a gentle nudge from Caius. Now she has to go to a tomb and pick up a skull for an orc. Nothing strange about that at all, really.

**Chapter Four**

Getting a Head

 

Adanji had scoured the whole bookstore and, as Dorisa had told her, not one of the books she had asked for were anywhere to be found. The Dunmer had apologized one last time, hoping she would not lose a customer, and Adanji left. Maybe the books weren’t there for a reason? Maybe the Temple didn’t like them? It didn’t matter, Adanji thought, putting her conspiracy theories firmly out of her mind. She had the information Caius had requested and the list of books he might wish to read were in the note. It was entirely likely he had the books already, or had sources that could find them.

            As she drew near Caius’ house she saw an Argonian with a missing toe and a bad limp leaving the building. He stopped briefly on seeing her, and gave her a knowing look before departing. Adanji assumed this must be Nine-Toes, one of the Blades whose name was on the list Caius had given her. That felt like forever ago. She nodded once, briefly wondering why he was there, then pushed her curiosity aside—it was probably Blades business. Adanji knocked on Caius’ door, yawning as she waited for him to open up. This time she was ready when it opened and slipped inside swiftly so he could slam it shut again.

            “You have the information.”

            Adanji nodded before realizing it wasn’t a question and handed over the notes. “But he didn’t have information on—”

            “The Nerevarine Cult. I know.” He skimmed the notes before fixing her with a hard stare. He waved to a chair—the only one in his house that wasn’t covered in books. “Have a seat.”

She eyed him suspiciously but, after a brief hesitation, did as she was told. The chair creaked with her every movement. She suspected that if she were only a few pounds heavier, it would break. Maybe Caius ate standing, or on his bed? It did seem that his seating was generally used more for book storage than anything else.

“How are you, Adanji?”

            She raised her brows, puzzled by the question. She’d come here expecting it to be all business and wondered if she was in trouble again, for whatever reason. “I’m… fine?”

            He leaned in a little, scrutinizing her, “Hasphat sent word ahead of you. He said you might not be up to our kind of work. You killed, yesterday? Felt guilty about it?”

            _Ah_. She should have known. Caius was the Blades Master, after all, and had eyes and ears everywhere. Of course he would know more than he let on at any given time. It didn’t stop her from flinching at the question, “... Yes. When I did that ‘favor’ for Hasphat. Did you know your informant is into smuggling Dwemer Artifacts?” She wondered briefly if that would bother Caius as much as her being in the Thieves Guild apparently did, but he didn’t appear shocked or upset. He just waited patiently for her to talk. She sighed. “I had to kill people yesterday. I’ve never done that before. It was in self-defense, but...” What right did she have to take a life? What made her own life more important than anyone else’s, even if that person was a murderer?

            “The guilt won’t last.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, “It _shouldn’t_ last. When you do work for the Blades, you’ll only be killing enemies of the Empire, or killing to defend yourself.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, “ _Both_ are a worthy cause.” He let his hand drop and Adanji felt a tight knot form in her chest. “If you continue to work for the Blades—and even your own guild—you will have to fight people, and, yes, sometimes kill them.”

            “My own guild?” Her eyes narrowed a little, “The Thieves Guild is strictly against killing.”

            His expression became grim, “Don’t be naive. Your Guild is in too deep. The Camonna Tong is gathering allies. It won’t be long before you have to fight to protect your guild mates, and yourself. You’ll need to be ready when that day comes.”

            The fur on the back of Adanji’s neck stood on end. “They’re making a move?”

            “Not now, but it won’t be long.” There was a long silence while Adanji processed the information, then Caius drew her attention once more to the present, “Adanji. Do you think you can handle more work for me?”

            “Ha. Do I have a choice?”

            “You always have a choice, but every choice has its consequences. Your work for us will be dangerous, but rewarding. You will have to kill, yes, but it will be for a good cause. If you choose not to stay on, you will have to go back to Cyrodiil and live out your sentence for your crimes and face punishment for treason against the Empire.”

            “So there _isn’t_ a choice,” Adanji said with a wry smile, “At least, not one that isn’t obvious.” A month ago, before she had gained any respect or semblance of friendship with her guild, and before she had begun to feel that she might have some worth, she would have accepted his offer. She would have returned to Cyrodiil, even if it meant facing execution. But now her guild was her home and her family, and she wanted to protect them. If that meant she had to stay on with the Blades as well, she would do that.

            Besides, there was something about the way Caius treated his underlings. Adanji did not want to disappoint him, as stupid as that felt. “I’ll stay.”

            “Good. Tell me what else Hasphat had to say about the Sixth House.”

            She took a deep breath, pushing aside her distress for the time being, and recounted everything Hasphat had told her. “I even looked for those books at Dorisa’s, but she didn’t have any of them. You don’t think the Temple banned them, do you?”

            He fixed her with a stony gaze, “Careful who you ask such questions. Bring up the wrong subject around here or ask the wrong person the wrong thing, and they might lock you up.” He relaxed a little, “But it’s a perceptive question nonetheless, one for which I have no answer. The Temple’s getting jumpy about a lot of things lately, so who knows?”

            Adanji yawned for what had to be the hundredth time that morning.

            “I’m sorry, am I boring you?” he growled.

            She started, taken aback. “Just tired,” she said defensively. “Been having disturbing dreams...” Now he looked worried. In fact, he gaped at her as though she’d grown an extra limb. She was reminded of the way Habasi had reacted when she’d told her the same thing. “What is it? I know the locals have been ranting about nightmares and going crazy, but I’m pretty sure I’m still sane...” At least, as sane as she’d ever been. “Although… I can’t help but wonder if they’re linked to the Sixth House.” She meant it as a joke, though she did have her suspicions, what with all the crazy that had happened just in the last few days. She certainly wasn’t going to forget about that ‘Sleeper’ any time soon.

            He shook his head, “That’s another thing you really shouldn’t bring up around the Temple. Or any Dunmer for that matter. The locals are humorless bastards.  Start talking about dreams and _visions_ and they’ll think you’ve got the soul sickness—in other words, they’ll think you’ve gone mad. You start talking like these dreams _mean_ something, they’ll think you’re some sort of prophet or witch, and they’ll cart you off to the Ministry of Truth for ‘healing.’ Take my advice; keep a lid on it.”

            Adanji was a little bit hurt by his reaction, but kept that hidden and just nodded, biting her lip. She supposed he had a point. If the Temple really had dragged off Dralosa Athren just for mentioning the Sixth House while recounting her friend’s apparent bout of insanity, then it was likely they would drag Adanji off somewhere, too, if she wasn’t careful. She didn’t appreciate being treated like an idiot, though.

            “I’ve sent word along to Sharn gra-Muzgob,” Caius said, breaking the silence, “She’ll be expecting you. As I’m sure you can guess, your next assignment is to get information on the Nerevarine Cult from her. She’s very smart, for an Orc, and very well-read. She’ll probably have some favor for you, like Hasphat did. Do it and come back with whatever she can give you.”

            “Ok—I mean—yes, sir.” It still sounded odd to her, the formality a stark contrast to the more relaxed Thieves Guild.

            “A word of warning; Sharn’s into some… dark arts. If you wind up having to kill anything for her, chances are it’s already dead.”

            Adanji froze. “ _Necromancy?_ ” She wasn’t sure what she felt about dealing with the undead. Actually, she _was_ sure. She was sure that she did not want to. But she had just told Caius that she would remain with the Blades and didn’t feel like backing out now. Besides, the mere possibility of death had far better odds than the certainty of it.

            He nodded, “Now, the locals take a dim view of necromancy. If they knew about it, they would probably drag her out into the streets and stick her in a fire, so don’t _tell_ anyone.”

            Adanji wondered just how many secrets she would be saddled with in this line of work, but nodded.

            “Just be careful.”

 

***

            Really, all Adanji wanted to do was sleep. She wished she had requested at least a day of rest, rather than jumping right into her next assignment. Then again, she was almost afraid to sleep because of the nightmares. That was stupid. Dreams weren’t _real_ , it wasn’t as though they could hurt her. Yet both Caius and Habasi had reacted poorly to the news of her unnerving dreams, both expressing concern. Caius had tried to hide it, claiming it was mere local superstition and the only danger would be the Temple’s reaction to it, but now Adanji really thought about it, she had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to it than that. There must genuinely be something _wrong_ with her. The last thing she wanted was to turn up dead, the source of the latest gossip one morning, forgotten the next.

            Frankly, she wasn’t entirely keen on working with necromancers, either. Necromancy hadn’t exactly been illegal in Cyrodiil, but there had been rumors that the Mages Guild was moving to ban its practice. That a guild dedicated to blowing things up on a fairly regular basis and constantly running hazardous experiments would ban anything was pretty indicative of its dangers. Still, it wasn’t long before she found herself standing at the Mages’ Guild doorstep.

            As soon as she entered she was assaulted by a heavy, sickly-sweet stench of something brewing. The air was thick with fumes of many different colors, floating and swirling near the ceiling. Adanji clapped her hands over her mouth as she sneezed, her eyes watering. She had to wonder how anyone could concentrate in such a haze.

“Oh, _great!_ ” Adanji heard a piercing female voice say, “Another Khajiit! I hope you aren’t here to join the guild. I have enough trouble with Ajira as it is.” She turned to see an unusually tall Bosmer glaring at her with her black beady eyes.

Adanji blinked, taken aback, then narrowed her eyes. “No. I am not here to join your precious guild. I’m here to speak with Sharn gra-Muzgob. Now can you tell me where she is, or do you plan on insulting me all day?”

“Sharn? The Orc? Ugh, she’s almost as bad as Ajira! _Almost._ Damn Khajiit thinks she’s a better mage than me? I’ll show her when I make journeyman before she does!” She continued ranting and Adanji, feeling a headache coming on, massaged her temples with two fingers, eyes squeezing shut.

“Look,” she growled, “Can you tell me where to find Sharn or not?”

“Hmm? Oh, right. She’s in the basement, doing ‘important’ research. She’s very rude, you know. Don’t expect a warm reception from her.”

            “Oh, yes! I wouldn’t want to deal with someone who’s rude, or anything,” Adanji said, barely concealing her sarcasm. “I think I’ll come to you for help more often, since you’re such an expert on manners, and all.”

            “What—really? Thank you!” the Bosmer said, missing Adanji’s tone completely, startling the Khajiit with her sudden change in attitude. “No one else really _gets_ me, here. Hey—you think you could do me a favor? Ajira’s writing some alchemy reports, and—”

            “Maybe later,” Adanji lied, “I have to get down to Sharn.”

            “Hmph!” she sniffed, “Well, ok then. Talk to you later!”

   

            Adanji did indeed find Sharn in the basement. This was where the fumes were coming from, she realized, and where the stench was the strongest. Just breathing it made her head swim and pain started jabbing her just behind the eyes. She lifted the collar of her shirt up over her nose, but that did little to filter the air. “Excuse me.” She tapped the Orc on the shoulder, “Sharn gra-Muzgob?”

            The Orc rounded on her, her face a picture of fury. Her skin, which would normally be a grayish-green, was now flushed purple, and her tusks were bared in a snarl. It was enough to make Adanji jump back a few paces, “I _cannot_ think with all these interruptions!” she roared, “ _Please_ leave me alone!”

            “But—”

            “No. No interruptions!” She flung her hands up into the air, “How many times—”

            “Caius sent me!” Adanji interrupted as quickly as she could.

Sharn paused mid-sentence, then relaxed visibly, her cheeks returning to their original color. “Oh. You are one of Caius’ associates? That is a different matter.” She motioned for Adanji to follow her to a secluded corner of the guild, out of earshot of the other mages. Adanji wasn’t sure why the Orc bothered. Everyone seemed too preoccupied with mixing potions, chanting spells, and writing various notes to pay them any heed. “Caius and I have a very satisfactory arrangement, and I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement, _if_ you will complete a little errand for me.”

“Caius said as much. What do you need?”

“It’s very simple.” The Orc peered around conspiratorially, then lowered her voice to a hiss, “I need the skull of Llevule Andrano. You’ll find it in Andrano Ancestral Tomb. But take care not to upset the natives. The Dunmer have some peculiar primitive prejudices against necromancy, and take grave objection to unauthorized tomb visits.”

            “A—a skull? You need a skull?” She felt a little dirty. First she’d been sent to smuggle something, now she was grave robbing? Caius had said it was all for a good cause, and she wanted to believe him, but she was having her doubts. “And I can find it in a tomb?” _That’s obvious,_ but she tried to keep her voice as even as possible. It didn’t help that she was tired, which frayed her nerves. “How, exactly, am I supposed to tell it apart from all the rest?”

            “There may be many skulls in Andrano Tomb,” she conceded, “But you’ll have no problem recognizing Llevule’s skull from the ritual markings.”

            _Ritual markings?_ “Who was this man?”

            Sharn shrugged. “Nobody important.” Adanji was certain it had to be a lie. Why else would she specifically need his skull, out of countless others? Lie or not, though, it wasn’t her business. The information was.

            “Where can I find the tomb?”

            Sharn heaved an exasperated sigh, clearly growing impatient with all of the questions. “It is south of Pelagiad. Northeast of Seyda Neen. Take the road, follow the signs. The tomb is just off the road, to the right if you’re heading there from Pelagiad. You may need an enchanted blade—some spirits are immune to normal weapons. Damned locals are hypocrites. For all their complaints of necromancy they have no qualms with summoning spirits of their ancestors to protect their tombs...”

            “Oh! That reminds me—” Adanji took off her ring and held it out. She hadn’t had much time to ponder its enchantment yesterday what with everything else she’d been dealing with, but now she was at the Mages’ Guild, which was probably the best place to ask about enchantments and how they worked. “I had a question about—”

            “What’s this? Is that supposed to be enchanted or something? If you have a question about that, you’d better see Galbedir. She’s our enchantress.”

            “Galbedir?”

            “The Bosmer in poncy, over-priced robes. Always hangs out by the entrance—seems to enjoy scaring away potential customers. Fine by me, but Ranis doesn’t appreciate it.” Oh. Adanji had already met her then. “Here. Take this old shortsword. It’s still got a spark to it, and should handle those spirits nicely. I have no more use for it. Maybe these scrolls will come in handy, too. Those three have fire spells. This one is an Intervention scroll. Use it only in case of emergency, if you need to make a quick escape. They’re single-use. If you use any of them, I’ll want you to pay me back.”

            Adanji nodded, taking them gratefully and noting the difference between the fire and intervention scrolls before slipping them into her pack.

            “Well? What are you waiting for? Get going!”

            Adanji was happy to do as she said just to get out of the thick fumes. When she reached the top of the stairs, she took a deep breath, grit her teeth, and approached Galbedir.

            “Hello again.” She forced what may have been the most painful smile she’d ever worn. “I had a question.”

            “Really? You’re asking _me_ a question?!” She sounded so excited, as if her guildmates never spoke to her. Adanji didn’t have to guess why. “How can I help you, Khajiit? Oh! I never got your name!”

            “Adanji. That’s not important—”

            “I’m Galbedir.”

            “So I’ve heard.”

            “You’ve heard of me? Oh, no, they haven’t been saying anything _bad_ about me, have they?”

            “Um—listen, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Sharn sent me to you to ask about enchantments.”

            “Oh! She did? Well, I do know all about those.”

            Adanji held out her ring, letting the Bosmer take it and inspect it closely. “It’s enchanted already, but it seems to have... died. It saved me from some pretty nasty wounds yesterday—I didn’t even know it could do that.”

            “You didn’t… do anything to activate it?” Adanji shook her head. “It must have reacted to your stress. How nasty were these wounds?”

            “Well, I had two very deep cuts from a sword…” She cut herself off. She didn’t want to reveal too much or have to answer too many difficult questions. “That’s not important. I’m alive because of that ring, but before it healed my wounds it was warm and glowed like a star. Now it’s cold and, as you can see, doesn’t glow at all.”

            “I find it difficult to believe a ring with such a simple enchantment could have healed such extensive wounds… it must have taken its entire charge to do that.”

            “The enchantment is simple? How do you mean?”

            “Well,” Galbedir puffed herself up, clearly delighted to know so much that Adanji did not, and continued as if the information she had to share should have been obvious to anyone, “It’s only meant to heal very small cuts, like one might get when they turn a page too quickly. It makes sense that the whole thing would have been sapped if you really were bleeding as much as you say you were.” She snorted derisively, as though she doubted a scrawny little Khajiit could have survived a papercut, much less a gash from a sword.

            “So… is it dead?” She wasn’t sure how else to put it. It wasn’t as though it were a living thing, enchantment or no, but she didn’t think the word ‘broken’ would work either.

            “Dead? Well, it has no charge, if that’s what you mean, but that should take care of itself. Just leave it alone for awhile—in your case, it should take a solid month before it can heal anything major. Or you could hire me to recharge it.” She detailed what a recharge would require and how expensive it was versus simply buying a better ring. Adanji couldn’t afford either option, but was happy not to give the snobbish elf a single Septim.

She was relieved to get out of the guild hall and into the fresh air. Aside from the wind-swept layer of ash covering the ground, all traces of the previous night’s storm were gone. The sky was as clear and blue as sapphires and a gentle breeze ruffled her fur, carrying with it the sweet scents of the Bitter Coast. She took a deep breath, tilting her head back and closing her eyes against the warmth of the sun. Days like this were becoming rare in the early-Frostfall weather.

 

***

            With the exception of a few annoying, shrieking cliff races swooping down to peck at her, Adanji’s trip was mostly uneventful. She’d enjoyed the beauty of the grasslands that mingled with the swamps of the Bitter Coast. Colorful emperor parasols loomed high above her, tangling together in clusters between oak, maple, and cherry trees. Where the hills sloped downward in the distance, she could see the clash between the bright colors of the grasslands and the dark, marshy greens of the swamp. She watched a few netch drifting about, their magical, blue vapors and vine-like tentacles trailing lazily behind them.

            She passed Pelagiad on her left when it was starting to get late. She hadn’t exactly had an early start that morning and had spent a good deal of time in the bookstore and at Caius’ house after that. Despite her long sleep the previous night she was exhausted, and the tiresome hike hadn’t helped. She hesitated, briefly, then spun on her toes and returned to the small town of Pelagiad. Though the settlement was not much larger than Seyda Neen, it had a lot more shops and a massive Imperial Fort around which the town was built. The houses and even the shacks were better built, too. When facing the Fort, Adanji could see a trader and an armorer to her right, and to her left was a two-story inn, which looked inviting; the melodic, muffled sounds coming from inside only added to its appeal.

            The sign swinging outside the inn read “Halfway Tavern.” She wondered what ‘Halfway’ was referring to, and guessed that perhaps it marked the halfway point on the road between Balmora and Vivec, which she could barely see towering on the southern horizon, a great mass that was pale and gray in the distance. When she opened the door she was greeted with warmth from a fire crackling in the hearth, the alluring scent of food, and the sound of laughter and voices exchanging the latest gossip. A band of five bards was playing in the corner, their guar-skin drums, lute, and flutes combined to make a charming, playful tune which danced around the tavern, filling it with life.

Like South Wall, there were tables set up where people were gambling or playing shells, but she doubted the debts incurred got as high here, or that they were even expected to be paid off. Unlike South Wall, there were no exotic dancing girls, which, if she was being honest, she didn’t miss at all. She made her way to the bar, navigating through the drunken crowd.

A Dunmer lady stood behind the bar, washing a glass tankard and smiling stiffly at an overeager, drunken Nord who was attempting to make small talk. She looked relieved when Adanji interrupted the man to get her attention.

“Ah! Yes, Khajiit, what can I do for ya?” She seemed much friendlier than most of the local Dunmer, but for all Adanji knew she could have been an outlander just like her.

“I would like a room, please.”

“How long’re you staying, hon?”

“Just for the night.”

“That’ll be ten drakes,” she said, absently tugging up the neck of her blouse and shifting under the Nord’s lecherous gaze. Just as he leaned in, likely to grope at her, she jerked her head at someone behind Adanji and a scruffy-looking Dark Elf brushed by her, escorting the Nord outside with a whispered threat that quickly stilled his struggling. “Is there anything else I can do for ya, sera?” she said, returning her attention to her patron.

Adanji tore mind away from the commotion outside and ordered a Mazte and roast hound meat, then ate in relative silence, listening to the buzz of rumors milling about the tavern. She heard a rumor that the Dunmer bouncer, Nelos, was a bandit who was only working for Drelasa to pay off a debt. A Khajiit woman in the bar was having trouble with a bunch of thugs. A Bosmer thief had been captured and was being held at Fort Pelagiad, where some swore they heard screaming. A Nord upstairs kept to herself and was supposedly a part of a Daedric cult. A merchant was acting shifty and having secret meetings with one of the local guards. The rumors were endless.

“Yeh read the latest news?” said a man at a nearby table.

“What’s that?” a Breton asked, leaning in with interest.

“Strange happenings, tha’s what. World’s comin’ to an end! Even says so, right here!”

Adanji peered over at the two men who had taken up residence at the table beside her. Under the arm of the Breton who was leaning on the table, she saw a leaflet they were reading. In bold headlines, it read:

 

_**‘Is It The End of The World as We Know It?** _

_**Cliff Racers, Nude Nords, and more!’** _

            She raised a brow at the title, both amused and intrigued. It was too far away for her to read the story itself, but she didn’t have to, as the Breton started reading it aloud.

            “Citizens of Morrowind have noticed a marked increase in the vermin that is the cliff racer blackening the skies like the ash from Red Mountain itself.” He snickered and read on, “As if the creatures were not enough of a nuisance before, now their presence has become a nightmare to deal with. Local experts suggest traveling in large groups or via silt strider to prevent being carried off! In accordance with this strange increase in racer population, a rash of nude Nords have been found wandering the lands of Vvardenfell, each claiming to have been hoodwinked by some witch. ‘Now, we all know Nords are not the brightest in the best of times,’” The Breton’s friend nodded in agreement, “‘But this many nudists with the same story is just abnormal!’ Bolvyn Venim of house Redoran says.

            “On top of this disturbing news, now we have Wood Elves falling willy-nilly from the skies! Tarhiel, known member of the Imperial Mages Guild, was found dead near Seyda Neen, splattered from what must have been a great fall.” He rolled his eyes. “Naked Nords and flying elves… world’s gone mad, if you ask me.”

            “‘S all in good fun. Yeh don’ really take those leaflets seriously, do yeh?”

            The Breton scoffed, “Hardly. Though I wouldn’t put it past a Wood Elf to muck up a simple levitation spell, and I _have_ seen an unusual number of Nord nudists about.”

            Adanji smiled at the exchange. She hadn’t exactly expected the most reliable news, but this was just sad. She finished her meal, took the key Drelasa had given her, and went upstairs to her room. The bartender had said it was the last room on the left.

***

            She’d slept better that night. At least she felt somewhat refreshed when she woke. She set out early, leaving her room key at the counter with Nelos, who was watching the bar. She asked if he sold potions, which he did, and purchased three. “Have a good morrow,” he called after her as she left. In the distance, the sky had taken on a pink hue, hinting at rain. She drew her clothing about her against the morning chill, and made her way out of town and to the south.

            The Andrano Ancestral Tomb was not far, only a half an hour’s walk south. The entrance peeked out of the mountainside, into which the tomb had been carved. The ornately designed archway and wooden door leading into the tomb evoked imagery of certain parts of the female body, though she would never mention such a thing to the locals.

            She was vaguely reminded of Arkngthand when she entered the place, though it looked completely different. It wasn’t the appearance, but the feel of the place. Where the Dwemer ruin had ticked and hissed, this place had a life of its own. It whispered. It _breathed._ It was enough to set the Khajiit’s teeth on edge, and she flinched at every sigh that wasn’t her own. Places of dead were supposed to be silent. She crept forward, shivering both from cold and fear. It didn’t take much effort to stick to shadows, at least, as the whole place was dark, only lit by the occasional wall sconce, flickering dimly over the sarcophagi.  

            Urns lined the corridors, some sitting atop the sarcophagi, others on pedestals, and still others in nooks carved into the walls. In the shadows ahead of her, Adanji suddenly saw a flurry of dust motes being kicked up by something that wasn’t there. _Or by something invisible…_ she thought with a shudder. She gripped the hilt of the enchanted shortsword Sharn had given her, ready to pull it from its sheath, and kept going, her jaw set.

            The walls seemed to press in around her. The air was thick and suffocating as she pressed on, and every noise—every soft footfall, every shallow breath—sounded unbearably loud to her straining ears. She flinched at the sound of a pebble being kicked across the floor by a careless foot, silently cursing herself for her misstep. She stood rigid, heart racing, eyes bulging. She was certain she saw a shape floating just out of the corner of her eye, but every time she turned her head to get a better look, it was gone. She expected that whatever had disturbed the dust moments ago would show itself now, but minutes passed and all was silent. She swallowed and took one tentative step forward.

            A sudden, bloodcurdling scream caused Adanji to jump into the air and a figure materialized in front of her. Its shriek was matched only by her own when it charged at her. Adanji had no time to react as the creature pushed right _through_ her, sending a chill through her bones like ice, causing her joints to lock up in agony. Survival instincts kicking in, she pushed past the pain, trying to ignore it as she whirled, cutting an arc in the air with her blade as she faced the wraith.

            It shrieked and rushed at her again, but this time Adanji’s blade reached it first and, to her astonishment, it connected. Sort of. It dragged a little, like trying to hit something under water. The blade glowed like an ember and a surge of light enveloped the wraith. It screamed one last time as it was engulfed in flame and exploded in a maelstrom of magical energy, leaving behind nothing but a glistening pile of ectoplasm. Slowly, warmth returned to Adanji’s limbs and the pain ebbed away. She was shocked at how easy it had been to kill the thing, and noted that she had a certain advantage. She felt no guilt over killing the dead.

Such an advantage seemed weak, however, when the creatures could become invisible, move through solid objects and turn her insides to ice. With a deep breath, she continued picking her way through the labyrinthine tunnels. She found herself wishing she had brought a ball of yarn, or something she could leave behind as a trail. Though she took mental notes of every turn she made, it eventually became hopeless, especially with the distractions caused by the occasional wraiths swooping in to impede her journey. Though simple enough to vanquish, their cries never got any less terrifying.  

She stopped in her tracks. Somewhere ahead of her, she could hear something. It wasn’t the whispering or moaning of ghosts, but creaking; a dry, dusty rasping and clicking. She crept on, keeping herself pressed against the wall, blade at the ready. Holding her breath, she peered around the corner and fought back a gasp. Skeletons. Three skeletons, ambling around like marionettes guided by the invisible strings of magic—guarding their domain. She would have to get by them if she wanted to get the skull and Caius’ information. She was liking this place less and less.

Gripping her sword tight enough for the hilt to bite into her palm, she slunk around the corner, keeping out of the light that emanated from nearby candles. She wasn’t even sure the creatures could hear or see, but she was not inclined to take that chance. At least for the moment they didn’t seem to detect her. The wraiths had had an uncanny ability to find her even in the blackest of shadows.

As she squeezed past one skeleton just inches away, it stopped and turned its head to follow her, tracking her with its chilling, eyeless stare. She stared back, her tail lashing in apprehension, wondering if its apparent detection of her had something to do with proximity, or if she was just imagining its gaze following her every move. Then, without warning, it rasped at her—all it could do without lungs or vocal cords—and attacked. Its dried up joints creaked and moaned in protest with every move it made, and when Adanji rolled out of the way it crashed into the wall with a resounding clatter. It shattered, its bones scattering all over the floor. Adanji gawked, and then broke out into hysterical laughter before remembering where she was and silencing herself.

The two remaining skeletons, drawn by the noise, came running, blades raised. Heartened by the previous skeletons easy demise, she ducked under the first blade, countering with a slash that sent the skeleton’s head flying from its shoulders. It fell with the same resounding clatter as the first. As the third attacked, she plunged her blade through its empty eye socket, its skull cracking and bursting into flame. The creature was quickly reduced to dust before her feet. It seemed the undead were fairly weak, however terrifying they were. All it took was a good enchanted weapon to set the wraiths ablaze and a little bit of force to break apart the skeletons.

            Now the battle was over, she felt the stinging pain in her cheek and across her forearm, telling her she had been hit by one of the skeletons, but it was nothing serious. She could drink a potion later, assuming the wounds didn’t already close up by then; she didn't want to waste them in case she came across something worse.

            Despite the eerie whispers that still caused her fur to rise, Adanji continued on her course with an unusual sense of confidence. The Tomb only grew colder and darker as she descended, and she was more thankful than ever that she could see with little trouble in the dark. The whispers grew louder, too, and she began to wonder what they were saying, though she doubted she wanted to know.

 

Finally, after what felt like hours, she arrived at a large chamber. Her breath came out in white puffs and a chill ruffled her fur. The whispers here were almost deafening. In the center of the room she saw what must have been a shrine. Lit candles were set up all around a basin full of ash, which occasionally stirred as though of its own accord. All around the basin were trinkets—possibly family heirlooms—and flowers. It appeared that the grave had been visited recently, the wax only burnt halfway down the candles, the flowers still fresh, though they rested atop some dry, dead ones. In the middle of it all sat a skull, mysterious symbols engraved into its forehead and coiling down around it like a crown.

The skull of Llevule Andrano.

With a minor sense of guilt and growing sense of apprehension, Adanji scooped up the skull. A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach when the whispers stopped, leaving her in silence, and the candles flickered out. The stench of rotting flesh caught her nose and made her gag. She whirled, and though it was almost pitch black she could make out a horrible figure shuffling toward her from the door. It was some form of undead, though she had no idea as to what it had actually been in life. It had been skinned, blood oozing thickly from the muscle and sinew. It looked as though the skeleton had been ripped from its body, all the bones snapped in two, and then jabbed back into the flesh at odd angles to create an abomination. The mere thought of it was enough to twist her gut, but the _sight_ of the tortured creature and the squelching, gurgling cry of rage it made as it shuffled toward her filled her with a sense of dread.

While she felt she might be able to outrun the thing, she had no clue if she would find her way out of the Tomb before it could corner her. It was then that she remembered the scrolls Sharn had given her. Specifically, the Intervention scroll. What was it Sharn had said? Use it if she needed a quick escape? With trembling fingers, she dumped the skull into her bag and pulled out the scrolls, flipping through them until she found Intervention and dropped the rest into the sack. She backed away from the lurching, twitching beast as she fumbled with the scroll, and—dropped it.

It landed with a dull thud on the dusty stone floor, bounced, and rolled into shadows. Crying out in alarm, Adanji tore after it. She pounced, cat-like, and snatched it off the floor, whirling to face the monster, her back finding a corner of the chamber. When she looked up, a scream tore involuntarily out of her throat—the creature’s twisted face was inches from her own. She could see the flesh that was once its face dangling off its jaw, swaying sickeningly as it let out a gurgling battlecry. It pulled back its arm, slowly, angling the twisted, broken bone toward her throat like a makeshift blade. Without another thought, Adanji threw open the scroll and as soon as the words were visible shouted the inscription, desperately praying that it would work, because if it didn’t she was dead. Just as the creature’s arm came down, the scroll burst into purple flame, starting from the ink and then spreading out, the magic consuming it, then coiling up her arms and licking at her face.

She didn’t see the rest. Her body became weightless and everything spun around her in a whirl of light and color. She lost all sense of space, with no clue of what was up and what was down, and while she wanted nothing more than to escape the whirlwind, she felt like it would be a bad idea to move. In a flash it was all over. She landed heavily on solid ground and collapsed, tongues of violet flame dissipating around her. Her stomach was doing somersaults and the world didn’t seem interested in standing still, but when her vision cleared she saw that she was back in Balmora, sitting in front of the Tribunal Temple. The sky was overcast and it was sprinkling.

She was safe. Nine! She was safe! Relief swept through her and she stood, stumbling into the Temple wall. She just leaned there for a moment before trying again. She still felt weak in the knees, but she could walk. The light, cool raindrops soaking her fur and rolling down her face actually helped soothe her nausea.

 “First time teleporting?”

She turned her head, and wished she hadn’t, clapping her palm over her eyes. She swallowed, blinked a few times, and nodded. She was afraid if she opened her mouth she would vomit.

“Well, you’ll get used to it.”

She got a better view of the robes of the Dunmer who was talking to her, noting the downward-pointing triangle and the three Daedric symbols emblazoned on her chest, and realized she was a Priestess. “Not sure I want to...” she managed to choke out.

“I felt the same way, first time I used an Intervention spell. Better feel a little sick than get eaten by kagouti, though, am I right?”

            Adanji hadn’t seen a kagouti yet, so she didn’t know what one was. She had heard that they looked like corprus-eaten guar, but since she—thankfully—hadn’t seen the effects of corprus, she couldn’t picture it with any accuracy. She just nodded again. It was sound reasoning.       “Not very talkative? I understand. Almsivi guide you, outlander.” The Priestess bowed, then entered the Temple. It took Adanji a moment to realize that had been the same Priestess who had glared at Dralosa Athren before she had been carted off to the Ministry of Truth. She suddenly felt relieved she hadn’t said much to the woman, feeling she had been the one to order Dralosa’s arrest.

 

***

            “You’re back.” Sharn led Adanji back to her cloistered corner, her voice hushed. “You have my scrolls?”

            Adanji handed Sharn the fire scrolls, “I had to use the Intervention scroll. How much will that cost?”

            “Two hundred drakes. You have my skull?”

            Adanji handed her the money, as well as the skull, glad to part with the latter. “I hope that’s the one you were looking for, because I’m _not_ delving into any more tombs for a while.”

            Sharn took the skull and examined it for what seemed like ages, tutting to herself. “No, it isn’t I’m afraid. You’ll have to go back for the real one.”

            Adanji felt queasy. “What?”

            “Ha! Only joking, Khajiit.” She grinned, her tusks protruding grotesquely. “This is exactly what I wanted. It’s perfect for what I had planned.” She placed the skull in a chest, careful to lock it securely before turning back to Adanji. “Thank you. As promised, I will answer any questions you have.”

            “I’d like to know about the Nerevarine Cult.”

“Obviously. Anything specific?”

Adanji honestly hadn’t thought of it. How was she supposed to know precisely what information was relevant to Caius? “Anything you can tell me would be nice.”

            “Yes. Of course. It would be wise to keep this quiet, though. I doubt my guild mates would care, but this is a subject the locals do not take lightly. You should probably get a quill and some parchment… here. Write it down so you can tell Caius everything, but don’t let anyone else get their hands on it, if you value your life.”

            Adanji took the parchment and the quill, wondering why Sharn hadn’t just written everything down herself, but didn’t complain. It could be potentially suicidal to annoy an Orc—especially an Orc who dealt in necromancy. Adanji asked her questions and Sharn answered each one precisely, rattling off the information as if she were reading it from a book. By the time she’d finished, Adanji’s hand was cramped. She reread her notes, checking with Sharn for any discrepancies.

_ ‘The Nerevarine Cult _

_This Ashlander religious cult follows prophecies of a Nerevar reborn to honor ancient promises to the tribes, to reestablish the traditions of the Prophet Veloth, to cast down the false gods of the Tribunal Temple, and to drive all outlanders from Morrowind. Both Temple and Empire outlaw the cult, but it persists among the Ashlanders, despite Imperial and Temple repression. Because it is persecuted, it remains a secret cult, and it is hard to judge how widespread it is among the Ashlanders, or whether it has any following outside the Ashlander tribes._

_ The Nerevarine _

_The Ashlanders firmly believe that Nerevar will return to restore the glories of ancient Resdayn. (Morrowind was called 'Resdayn' before the Imperial Occupation.) The Ashlanders say the Great Houses and the Temple have abandoned the pure teachings of the Prophet Veloth, forsaking ancestor worship for the false gods of the Tribunal, and embracing the comforts of civilization that corrupted the High Elves. The Temple, on the other hand, venerates Saint Nerevar, but rejects the ‘disgusting’ notion that the False Incarnate will walk the earth like a ghoul._

_ Nerevar _

_The Temple honors Saint Nerevar as the greatest Dunmer general, First Councilor, and companion of Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil, who united the Dunmer Houses to destroy the evil Dwemer, the treacherous House Dagoth, and their Western allies at Red Mountain. But the Ashlanders say Nerevar promised to honor the Ancient Spirits and the Tribal law, and that he will come again to honor that promise. To the Ashlanders, this means destroying the false Temple and driving the Imperial invaders from the land.’_

 

    Adanji had to wonder; if Nerevar had truly destroyed House Dagoth, why was it still a problem now? The Temple seemed to enjoy keeping such concerns hush-hush, so perhaps the house had never truly been eradicated? Or perhaps some upstart group was using the Sixth House as a guise to throw authorities off their trail? That still didn’t explain the disappearances or the strange, entranced Sleepers shuffling about.

If this Nerevarine was real, though, that might explain why the Emperor wanted information on him. Maybe he hoped to find the Nerevarine, real or not, and silence him, so that the Empire would not be driven from Morrowind? It wasn’t much to go on, but at least it seemed to make some amount of sense. It was widely rumored that the dragon’s blood that flowed through Uriel Septim’s veins gave him a special view of what was to come. Others said that he watched the stars closely for anything that may affect his land. A fanatic who wished to drive out the Empire could stir up a lot of trouble in a province that hated outsiders.

_ ‘Nerevarene Prophecies _

_Dream visions and prophecies are a respected tradition in Ashlander culture. Their wise women and shamans take careful note of dreams and visions, and pass on the tribe's legacies of vision and prophecy to their successors. By contrast, the Temple and the Western faiths are suspicious of mysticism, and they regard interpretation of dreams and visions as primitive superstition._

_The most common version of the Nerevarene Prophecy is THE STRANGER. The verses are obscure, as are most prophecies. But two observations are in order._

_First, many less-well-informed scholars assume that the phrase "journeyed far 'neath moon and star" is just a cliché to suggest a very long journey, but the Nerevar of legend was known to possess a magical ring named "One-Clan-Under-Moon-and-Star," upon which Nerevar is supposed to have sworn his promise to honor ancient Ashlander traditions and land rights._

_Second, the reference to "seven curses" must certainly refer to the lost prophetic verses known to the Ashlanders as the SEVEN CURSES._

_ The Stranger  _

_When earth is sundered, and skies choked black,_

_And sleepers serve the seven curses,_

_To the hearth there comes a stranger,_

_Journeyed far 'neath moon and star._

_Though stark-born to sire uncertain_

_His aspect marks his certain fate._

_Wicked stalk him, righteous curse him._

_Prophets speak, but all deny._

_Many trials make manifest_

_The stranger's fate, the curses' bane._

_Many touchstones try the stranger_

_Many fall, but one remains.’_

 

    ‘Many Fall but one remains...’ Adanji stared at the last line for a while, certain she had heard it before, but for the life of her she could not remember where.

_ ‘Lost Prophecies _

_Ashlander elders complain of prophecies which have been lost to tribal memory due to the carelessness or ineptitude of earlier generations of wise women and ashkhans. Suspicious scholars wonder whether these prophecies might have been deliberately forgotten or suppressed. Three Nerevarine prophecies in particular are said to have been lost: 1. The Lost Prophecies; 2. The Seven Curses; and 3. Seven Visions of Seven Trials of the Incarnate. Perhaps these lost prophecies will someday be found, either in forgotten accounts written by literate travelers, or in the memories of isolated Ashlanders, or in the secret traditions of the wise women and shamans.’_

   

            “Is there anything else you can tell me?” Adanji asked, “About Indoril Nerevar himself, or his ‘incarnates’?”

            “Like I said. Nerevar is an ancient hero of the Dunmeri. He triumphed over Morrowind's enemies at Red Mountain, but died in the battle.” She put a hand to her chin, pondering for a moment, “There are conflicting accounts of his death, but that happens with time, as history gets muddled with myth. The Temple refers to any who claim to be Nerevar Reborn as the ‘False Incarnate’. It treats such persons as insane, and Ordinators pursue and imprison them ‘for their own protection.’” She scoffed, “The Temple has reported that the most recent False Incarnate, a girl child named Peakstar, has died, but they've produced no body, and skeptics are suspicious of Temple’s claims.”

            That sounded disturbing. Why wouldn’t the Temple display the girl’s body in the streets as a warning to other heretics? Maybe the Temple actually hadn’t had anything to do with Peakstar’s death. Or maybe they had simply wanted her to disappear, and were really keeping her prisoner somewhere? But if they were genuinely so threatened by false incarnates, why wouldn’t they just kill her and be done with it? Adanji had the distinct feeling that the more questions she asked, the fewer answers she would have, and the more likely she would be to die in a fire. “I think that’s everything I need. Can you read over my notes and make sure they’re accurate?”

            Sharn snatched the papers from her, “Very good,” she said at length, handing them back to her. “Though, you misspelled ‘Nerevarine’ twice.” Adanji had noticed that in her reread, but had hoped no one else would. “You saved me a lot of time by writing this for me. Thank you. Now take this information back to Caius and let me get back to my research.”

 

***

            Adanji noticed it was almost always dark when she was returning to Caius’ house. _Maybe it’s a sign—‘get out while you still can!’_ She thought with a wry smile. This time, however, the dark sky was due to the heavy rain, which had washed away much of the ash, rather than the hour. She stepped inside and latched the door behind her before Caius could beat her to it and handed him the papers.

            “You’re back sooner than I’d expected.” He flashed her a half-smile. “Let me see those… This isn’t Sharn’s handwriting. Not loopy enough.”

            “It’s mine,” Adanji admitted. There was silence as he read her notes. She glanced around as she waited, taking in the mess that was Caius’ house. It looked like some of the books had been moved around, and he had some new ones stacked on the table, some lying open. A sheaf of parchment was set aside with a quill where the spymaster had been taking notes. The room’s sole window, green-tinted like most in Balmora, had a makeshift curtain draping over it, shielding the room from prying eyes—assuming there ever were any. 

            “You misspelled Nerevarine... Two times, actually. Here and here.” He didn’t have to point it out for Adanji to know where. She just sighed.

            “My hand was cramping,” she said in a lame attempt at an excuse.

            Caius grunted.

            “The cults seem pretty similar, so far. I mean, they’re both illegal and want to rid Morrowind of outlanders,” Adanji said. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised—it seems like everyone here wants us gone.”

            “Not everyone,” he said as he finished skimming the notes, “But most of the local Dunmeri, yes.”

            “Why?” It wasn’t that she couldn’t understand irritation with the Empire. After all, they had interfered with her own life. But she had assumed the Provinces at least benefited from peace with the Empire. Morrowind was even allowed to govern itself, for the most part, keeping its own religious sects, laws and traditions, however outdated some of those were. Slavery came to mind—something she hadn’t thought much of until coming to Morrowind and seeing it firsthand. _Maybe not_ everyone _benefits,_ she thought bitterly, _but the Dark Elves certainly seem to._

            Caius tossed the notes onto a haphazard stack of parchment, which looked in danger of tipping over and spilling onto the floor, then fixed Adanji with an appraising gaze. “They’re proud. Conservative. Stuck in their ways. Nobody likes change and they like it even less when it’s forced on them. Morrowind has been conquered for over four hundred years, but the Dunmeri have long lives and longer memories, as they pass their hate to their children. Then there’s religion. Westerners worship the Nine, the locals have their Tribunal, and that’s a whole new topic we have no time for and I have no desire to get into.”

             “Ok. Then why does the Empire stay here when the locals hate it so much? It’s not like Morrowind is particularly hospitable.”

            “Many reasons.” Caius began counting them on his fingers, “Dwemer ruins provide artifacts, which may offer some valuable insight to the Empire. Rich deposits of malachite and ebony ore greatly benefit the crown. Our mutual understanding prevents war and chaos.” It all sounded rehearsed, Adanji thought, like he had tried to convince himself of the very same thing. “Plus,” Caius added, “We enjoy seeing the lesser races on their knees.”

            Adanji glared and crossed her arms, unimpressed.

            “That was a joke.” Adanji had never pictured Caius as the sort to jest. “Anyway, there are plenty of reasons for our arrangement, even if it’s a bit shaky at the moment. Too much to get into right now.”

She sighed. Caius’ answers made plenty of sense, but she found them somehow lacking. “Right. Is there anything else you need?”

            “No, but I am promoting you to Blades Apprentice, Adanji, you’ve done well.” Though she tried to hide it, she felt a small amount of pride swelling in her chest on hearing this. “Now give me some time to think how this fits in with the Emperor's plans for you.”

 _‘The Emperor’s plans for_ you. _’_ His wording troubled Adanji. She had wanted to believe none of this was really about her. She was nobody important—she had worked so hard in the past weeks to convince herself that it had not _literally_ been the Emperor who had ordered her release. She had reached a far more logical conclusion that the Emperor, or one of his ranking officials, had simply meant for a random criminal to be sent to Morrowind as an expendable pawn for some as-of-yet unknown scheme, and she had just so happened to draw the short straw. Maybe it was just a figure of speech?

“Next time you come to me I’ll want you in peak condition, ready to handle anything.” Caius’ voice intruded her thoughts, prying her back into reality. “Go and do some jobs for your guild, enhance your cover identity, get some training and come back in a few weeks. I’ll have something for you then.”


	6. Prison Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exhausted from Caius' assignments, Adanji is relieved to return to her duties with the thieves guild-- until Habasi comes to her with a mission to rescue a friend who has been arrested.

**Chapter Five**

Prison Break

 

            A lot had happened in the last few days, and Adanji was thrilled for the chance at some rest. ‘Don’t come back for a few weeks’, Caius had told her, and that suited her just fine. Maybe by then her armor would be ready and she would have a better chance in a fight. Of course, she would also need training. She supposed she would hire Arathor to teach her how to move in her armor and how to more efficiently block or dodge incoming attacks. He might also be able to train her how to better use her blades. Hasphat over at the Fighters’ Guild could refine her somewhat instinctive hand-to-hand fighting style. Not that a few weeks of training would make a huge difference, of course, but it might mean the difference between life and death.

   

            When Adanji returned to South Wall, she was reminded of Caius’ warning about the Camonna Tong. She wanted desperately to warn Habasi, but then Habasi would ask her where she had gotten her information and she would be trapped in an even bigger web of lies than she was already. The truth would get out and she might be expelled from both the Thieves Guild and the Blades, and then where would she be? She would be stuck in Morrowind where nobody trusted her, with little hope of surviving, or worse she would be shipped back to Cyrodiil and left to rot in a cell. Neither option would be pleasant.

            She made her way down to the bar, absently watching Chirranirr flirting with a chair as she mulled over her options. The Khajiit was drunk, as was usual for her at this hour, but apparently more so than usual if her promiscuous nature extended to inanimate objects. Arathor gently took her by the shoulders and guided her to the store room, presumably down to her bunk, and returned not long after. He was always protective of Chirranirr, particularly when she was too drunk to think clearly.

One night not long after Adanji had joined the guild, a man had tried to take advantage of Chirranirr. Arathor had punched the man so hard in the jaw he fell right over his chair, displaying far more strength than Adanji had assumed the elf capable of, and the whole bar had erupted into chaos. Adanji had spent much of the time hiding under a table, though she had contributed by tripping someone who had tried to attack Habasi with a wine bottle. Sottilde, a fiery Nord woman, had both taken and dealt the most hits out of the entire Guild. She had laughed the rest of the evening, even as she bled rather profusely from her forehead and nursed a black eye and swollen lip. The cornerclub had been completely trashed. Phane had made every member of the guild clean up his bar and refused to pay anyone for fenced goods for a whole week. Arathor still insisted it was worth it, even though he’d gone down fairly early in the brawl. Until then, Adanji hadn’t seen why Chirranirr was so fond of Arathor. She still didn’t find him the least bit attractive, but she admired his loyalty.

Arathor sat beside Adanji with a heavy sigh, pulling her from her reminiscing, and ordered a drink. Habasi joined them moments later. She had bought Adanji’s drinks last time they’d shared a meal, so Adanji ordered this time, shoving the drakes across the counter to Phane. He curled his lip at Adanji, still refusing to like or even trust her, but took her coin and handed them their particular poisons of choice. Adanji had taken a liking to Mazte, the least bitter of the local brews, while Habasi preferred Sujamma and Arathor enjoyed Flin. For a while they just sat in silence, drinking.

            “So…” Adanji spoke up, causing Habasi to regard her curiously. She had hoped she might find a way to warn the Khajiit about the impending Camonna Tong attack, but still had no idea how to go about such a revelation without revealing her source. Unfortunately, she still hadn’t thought up a good lie and Habasi was staring at her rather expectantly. So she redirected. “What brought you here?” She had asked the Mastermind this question several times before, but had never gotten a response. She didn’t really expect anything different now, but it would break the silence and if Habasi didn’t want to answer she would say so and change the subject.  

            “Why does Adanji ask?”

            “Well, you know my story,” she said, surprised by Habasi’s response, “I’m curious about yours. Besides, last time I asked, you told me to ask later. It’s later.”

            “Hnnn.... I suppose this is fair. Perhaps if this one tells you, you will stop pestering her?” Habasi said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She looked at Arathor a while, her expression sobering, then at Adanji. “This one was stolen as a child. Brought to Morrowind from Elsweyr.”

            “She was a slave, forced to work a plantation,” Arathor put in, tactless as usual. Adanji’s brows shot up in surprise. She shot Habasi a sidelong glance, wondering if it were true.

            She clenched her jaw, a pained expression briefly crossing her face before she answered. “Yes, yes, Habasi _was_ a slave,” she growled.

            “ _What?_ ” Arathor said defensively, “Chirranirr said you wouldn’t let anyone forget it for at least a year after you got here.” He leaned over toward Adanji, “Took her that long to grow a backbone and start trusting people, apparently. I wouldn’t kno—”

            “How did you get out, then?” Adanji wondered aloud, interrupting Arathor. “If you don’t mind me asking…” 

            “Habasi does not mind. Arathor got her past the hard part already…” She quirked a brow at the Bosmer. “She knew only Ta’agra when she arrived,” she said, referring to the native tongue of Khajiit, “But she paid attention, eventually learned the local language. It was strange to her tongue. She also learned her captors’ schedules. Learned their secrets, their conflicts, _where they kept the key to her bracers_. One night, while her ‘master’ Dren was sleeping, Habasi took the key, unlocked her bracers and fled.”

            “You couldn’t have fled with the bracers on?” Adanji asked without thinking. Of course the bracers would mark her as someone’s ‘property’ and any guards or mercenaries would feel obliged to return her to her masters.

            Habasi shook her head, then offered an unexpected response, “There is a magic in the bracers slavers use. It keeps slaves from getting too far from the plantations. Drains their magicka, their will power. Makes them too weak to fight or run when they’re out-of-bounds. Gives them only strength to get their work done. If they fight… bad things happen.” She shuddered, as if remembering some harrowing event she would rather forget. “But I digress. I fled from the second floor window and ran blindly to my freedom. I was thirteen. With some help, this one found Balmora and Gentleman Jim Stacey found her. He took pity on Habasi, seeing that she was a slave, and gave her work in the Guild.”

            “Now he’s the Guild Master,” Arathor said, “Holds up in Vivec city while the rest of us do the real work.”

            “Habasi’s friend has to keep his head low or the Camonna Tong would have it on a pike,” Habasi said defensively, “He still works. He just handles less profitable jobs these days. Before he left, after this one had been with the guild for six years, he promoted her to Mastermind and left her in charge of the Balmora Guildhall.”

Adanji nodded as the information sank in. She wasn’t the only one here who had had it rough, but Habasi just seemed so cheerful most of the time, if rightfully bitter about the treatment of her people. It amazed Adanji just how far the Mastermind had come. She wondered if she could ever accomplish as much. “I’m sorry. I understand why you didn’t want to talk about it, now.”

“Nn, it is no trouble. The past is the past. I have come to terms with it.” Though she smiled, it didn’t reach her eyes.

“What about you, Arathor? What’s your story?” Adanji and the elf had spoken frequently; she knew his favorite color, his favorite food, and how he fussed over his hair, but he’d never spoken much about his past and she’d never asked. Now seemed like a good opportunity to change the subject for Habasi’s sake, and maybe learn a little more about her friend.

“You don’t want to know,” Habasi warned before Arathor could even open his mouth.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Arathor said defensively, his ears turning beet-red.

“This one is sure that Argonian prostitute would disagree.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mind, I was just looking for—”

“You don’t want to know, Adanji.” Habasi said with a note of finality.

Adanji stared at the two, puzzled. She spent the rest of the evening trying to imagine just what had transpired between Arathor and the prostitute. What had he been looking for, and _where_ was he looking? More importantly, what did it have to do with his current place in the Thieves Guild? Adanji would never know.

            The night dragged on and as much as Adanji craved sleep, she found herself actively avoiding it. During her stay at the Halfway Tavern she hadn’t had a single nightmare, so there was a chance she might not have one tonight, either. Then again, a lot of queer things had been happening lately, all around her. There were her strange circumstances, her part in a plan she did not understand, that murder which had not occurred so far from her, Dralosa’s imprisonment, the Sleeper, as he had called himself, who had somehow known her name. On top of everything, there was that horrible creature she had seen just that morning, enough to give anyone nightmares all on its own.

            Too many terrible, sinister things floated about in Adanji’s recent memory and made her mind race. They made her paranoid. Frankly it was no wonder she’d been having nightmares. When she could stave off sleep no longer, dawn’s sun filtering in through the green-tinged windows near the entrance and the cornerclub uncharacteristically quiet, she finally made her way to her bunk and fell in.

 

            _Adanji found herself in a grand hall. No—not a grand hall; a Temple. She recognized it as Imperial architecture, though that felt wrong, as if the dream had built itself from her memories but was meant to reflect something else entirely. She sat up and studied her surroundings. It was dark and even with her Khajiit eyes she could not see. A light slowly filled the room, warm yet threatening. She could see, all around her, pews. She was in the middle of the aisle, and the pews were filled with people. Some she recognized, some she did not. She could see Arathor and Chirranirr sitting together at the front. Habasi was there, too, with Caius and Phane. Nine-Toes sat in the back._

_Adanji peered ahead, to the front, and saw a man. His face alternated between that of Swims and that of a strange, robed Dunmer she did not know, but was somehow familiar. She heard voices, but no lips moved. When she turned around she saw a woman—some form of Mer—sauntering toward her. Her beauty was unmatched, and her golden skin seemed to glow and her fiery red hair floated about her like a halo. She smiled at Adanji and spoke with her as if she were a lover. This normally would have made her uncomfortable, but a part of Adanji felt a longing for this woman. Behind the elf a man approached. He was wearing a golden mask._

_He stopped. Something in the way the shadows hit his mask made it appear that he was smiling. Despite this, his appearance filled Adanji with dread. With one wave of his hand, the masked man slaughtered all but Adanji. She tried to cry out but her tongue fluttered in vain. The man picked her up by the arm and dragged her among the dead. Though he wasn’t squeezing, his grip was like a vice and Adanji couldn’t pull away. He began speaking, laughing and joking to all present, as if they were alive—as if he hadn’t just killed every last one of them—and they made no reply. As she watched all this transpire, black spots began to flash before her vision. She was suffocating. She strained to breathe, but her lungs drew no air, as if filled with ash. She tried again to scream, but with no breath, she could not._

 

            “Adanji!!” Habasi shook her vigorously.

            “What?!” Adanji sat bolt upright, fur drenched with sweat. She clapped her hands over her forehead, which she had just banged against the top bunk. As the pain ebbed, she blinked the sleep out of her eyes and rubbed her dry, sore throat.

            “ _Hsss,_ by the Nine! You had Habasi worried.” One look at her proved that she was a little more than worried. She looked as though she’d seen a wraith.

            “Sorry...”

            “No need to apologize… You seem to be having a lot of nightmares, lately.” Her expression did not change. Adanji had a feeling she knew what Habasi was thinking. Not long before Adanji would go mad and start killing people, or herself. But Habasi had the tact not to express that fear.

            “Yeah...” Adanji yawned. A glance at the empty bunks around her told her she’d slept quite a while. “What time is it?”

            “Midnight. Roughly.”

            “Xhuth,” Adanji swore, “I may as well just stay in bed.”

            “Ha! Nice try.” Her eyes lit with humor, her apparent misgivings either masked or gone for the moment, “This one has a job for you, if you’re up to it. It might get your mind off of things, which I think you need.”

            Adanji stared for a long while, then nodded. “Yeah. What do you want?”

            “An associate of ours, New-Shoes Bragor, has not reported in for some time. This morning, Habasi found out why.” She cast about anxiously, and for a fleeting moment she gripped her ear before lowering her hand and continuing in a much calmer tone. “He has been captured, and taken prisoner in Fort Pelagiad.”

            “Huh...” Her mind went back to some of the rumors she had heard at the Halfway Tavern, remembering the snippet of conversation about a thief who had been captured. She hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.

            “What?”

            “Nothing. I was just in Pelagiad recently, that’s all.”

            “I hadn’t heard of that…” Habasi regarded her closely, “Freelance thieving?”

            “Yes,” Adanji lied, suddenly wishing she hadn’t brought it up, “But I was unsuccessful.”

            Habasi nodded, though she wore a suspicious frown. She seemed to push it aside, though, and continued, “Habasi wants you to go to the Fort and free New-Shoes. He should have some important information, so she want you to escort him safely back to South Wall.”

            “How should I go about that?” Adanji asked, not too sure how she felt about jail breaks. The Forts were exceptionally well guarded.

            “Habasi thought you’d escaped a prison before...” she said, an amused gleam in her eye. Adanji remembered the night she’d lied to Arathor about why she was in Morrowind and mentally kicked herself, but Habasi didn’t press her for answers. “Never mind that. There is an Orc warden who works at Fort Pelagiad. Shadbak gra-Burbug. Silly name, even for an Orc. She can be bought, as she accepts bribes from the merchant Mebestian.”

            “Why would a merchant need to bribe her?” Adanji said, ears perked.

            Habasi grinned, “This one was hoping you would ask. Mebestian keeps Dwemer artifacts. He has a good business going, from what Habasi hears. If Adanji can get her hands on one of these artifacts… well, she can figure it out from there.”

            Adanji nodded. _Blackmail._ It was certainly less expensive than it would likely be to bribe the Orc, but came with its own set of dangers. She got up, changed into clean clothes, and collected her gear.

 

            She didn’t need to follow the signs to find Pelagiad, her previous trip still fresh in her mind. The sun had risen by the time she arrived, and there was a lot of activity around the town. Farmers were busily tending their fields, doing last-minute preparations for the winter ahead, making sure their stores were full. Given the level of activity, Adanji suspected they were on their final harvest of the year. A woman sat outside her house at a loom, weaving what might be a tapestry or an intricately designed winter cloak. Smoke billowed out from the smithy’s shop, the sound of metal clanking on metal pealing out through the open windows.

            Halfway Tavern was mostly empty, save for a few late risers scarfing down their breakfast. With no one to entertain, the bards sat quietly in the corner playing cards. Drelasa saw Adanji coming in and smiled, waving her over. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. What can I get for ya?”

            “Just a room for the day,” Adanji said, handing over ten drakes.

            She reached under the bar, then handed the Khajiit her key, “It’ll be the same room as yesterday. Here for business, hon?”

            “Just passing through, heading back home.”

            “Well. Enjoy your stay. You stop by again, next time yer on business, ‘kay, hon?”

            Adanji made her way to her room, plopping back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. She would have to wait until it was dark again before she could get into Mebestian’s shop unnoticed. She doubted she could just waltz in and start poking around for any Dwemer artifacts she could find, and the merchant would likely have guards watching his shop during the day, so she couldn’t threaten him for them either. Not that she could be particularly threatening, anyway.

            Without much else to do, Adanji selected one of the books on her room’s sole shelf at random and began reading. Before long, she fell asleep, the book laying open on her chest.

 

Adanji woke hours later, unable to recall the dream she’d had, but well aware it had been unpleasant. She peered groggily out the window. The sun was setting. She sighed, irritated that even with hours of sleep she still felt drained. She felt as though her limbs were made of lead as she got up, like her body had been tethered to the bed. When she left her room, something caught her eye. She stared at the wall across from her room and her heart stopped, as if turned to stone.

Someone had carved graffiti into the wood, and though the words were jagged, she could still read them.

 

_I AM THE SHARMAT. I AM OLDER THAN MUSIC. WHAT I BRING IS LIGHT. WHAT I BRING IS A STAR. WHAT I BRING IS AN ANCIENT SEA…_

 

Adanji recognized it from somewhere. It brought up the image of a tall, dark figure with an unusual mask, floating on the surface of distant memories. She was sure she recognized it from a dream, but it was the end, written in what looked suspiciously like blood, that caught her interest.

 

**_T_ ** _HE DREAMER IS AWAKE!_

 

            The four words had been written multiple times, all over the wall, as if it were the mantra of a madman. It was only graffiti, but it felt like much more; some sort of warning, specifically directed at her, much like the man who had called himself a Sleeper who had assaulted her on the bridge in Balmora. She kept a close eye on everyone she saw in the tavern that evening as she ate her dinner, wondering if the culprit would be watching her, or if they would even be in the tavern. It was likely they had left, which somehow didn’t comfort her. She informed the publican of the graffiti, who immediately sent someone to go cover it, then thanked her for the warning and promptly told her to please leave. Apparently she believed Adanji was at least in some way responsible for the writing on the wall and wanted no trouble.

            The Khajiit didn’t blame her, though she was still miffed. She hoped she could free New Shoes that night, or she would wind up having to sleep on the streets. Though she’d seen plenty of people in Labor Town unfortunate enough to sleep in the elements, such was technically illegal in Morrowind as it ‘blocked walkways and disturbed the peace.’ On top of that, it was getting cold at night.

 

Mebestian’s shop was locked up tight and appeared empty. Adanji was just fine with the latter, and assumed the merchant must be over at the tavern. She peered up and down the street, making sure no witnesses were nearby, and set to unlocking his door. It was a simple lock, and she was inside in no time. The shop was big, and in the main store there were no Dwemer artifacts. It made sense, Adanji thought, since the merchant would likely keep his illicit wares out of sight, probably locked up until his contacts would meet up with him in some dark alley for the exchange.

She crept up the stairs to his home above the shop. There were no doors or walls separating spaces, just the occasional three-panel canvas screen. A number of cabinets lined the walls, along with some shelving and ornate chests. Since most Dwemer artifacts were fairly bulky, Adanji started with the larger chests. Most of them weren’t locked, and she found with little surprise that the artifacts were not stored in these.

            After a while of searching, she came upon a chest which broke four of her picks before she could successfully crack its lock. She smiled at its contents—a number of Dwemer artifacts. Just as she slipped a relatively compact one into her pack she heard the door open downstairs. Her pulse raced and she shut the chest. She could hear footsteps clomping up the stairs. She couldn’t run downstairs or she would be seen, nor could she stay in Mebestian’s quarters—there was no place to hide. With little other choice, she darted to a window, flung it open, and leapt out into the night.

            Her landing was softer than she’d expected, and she realized his window was not as high as she’d feared, and she’d landed in soft grass rather than hard cobblestone or gravel. Getting quickly to her feet, she ran into shadows before glancing back up at the window. The merchant was leaning out of it, scanning the darkness but unable to pinpoint the intruder. She wondered if he’d seen anything amiss beyond the open window, and how long it would take before he noticed one of his Dwemer artifacts was missing.

            She decided not to wait and find out, pushing on to the Fort. She drew some skeptical stares from the guards as she asked around for gra-Burbug. She knew inquiring after Shadbak specifically might make her look suspicious, but it was certainly better than wandering about the large fort, possibly for hours, in search of someone she did not know. Asking around was the honest approach and, in this instance, the safest course of action. Finally, a guard pointed the way to the Orc’s quarters, an office just outside of the Fort’s prison.

            Adanji cleared her throat on entering; the Orc’s back was turned to her. “Shadbak?”

            “Yeah? Whaddya want?” the Orc growled, turning around and eyeing her, “Wait, I don’t know you. Who do you think you are? What could you possibly want with me at this hour?”

            Adanji took a deep breath, “I would like to ask about a prisoner of yours. New-Shoes Bragor?”

            “Aha! So you’re one of _them_ , are you? Well I’m afraid we’re not quite done with your associate, yet. You’ll just have to wait ‘til his sentence is up.” She smirked.

            “I don’t suppose some money could change your mind?” Adanji said, pulling out her coin purse.

            “Haha! You think you can buy me? You want your little friend out, it’ll cost you a lot more than any of you Thief-types could afford!”

            After a brief hesitation, Adanji put her gold away. She rummaged around in her satchel and pulled out the artifact, wordlessly slamming it down on the Orc’s desk, her expression as cold and calculating as she could make it.

            “What are you—Hey! That belongs to Mebestian! You _stole_ it, didn’t you!?” gra-Burbug blurted out stupidly, eyes wide.

            “Hold on. How do you know it belongs to Mebestian?” Adanji said, feigning innocence.

            “It has his mark on it, for one thing! Plus, we have a little deal going,” she explained, obviously quite proud of her cleverness, “He pays me good money to—” She stopped abruptly, realizing too late what she was saying, and cast around frantically, hoping no one had heard her.

            “How about you release New-Shoes, and I’ll pretend I never heard that?” Adanji forced as much confidence and self-assurance into her voice as she could muster, though she had serious doubts about this actually working.

            The Orc scowled at her, sputtering a number of expletives. Adanji waited with bated breath. Since she had stolen one of the artifacts, she could easily be arrested for the crime. However, the Khajiit also knew exactly where Mebestian stored his goods, and if things got too out of hand it wouldn’t take much for the authorities to discover gra-Burbug’s involvement. The Orc would be ruined.

“Fine!” she snapped, “You’ve won this round, Khajiit, but don’t think you’ll get away with it!” She wagged a fat, gnarled finger inches from Adanji’s face, her own contorted and purple. “I’ll get you for this. Your whole _guild_ will pay the price, mark my words!”

            “I’m sure we will,” Adanji said flatly. She was relieved the plan had actually worked, but the longer she stayed in the Fort, the more anxious she felt. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Places to go, things to steal, you know how it is. Release my friend and we’ll be on our way.”

            Gra-Burbug lumbered down the hall, cursing under her breath all the while, then ordered New-Shoes released, nearly punching the guard who questioned her before hissing, “Just do it!”

It wasn’t long before Adanji was escorting the Bosmer right out the Fort’s front doors, authorized release forms in hand. The Wood Elf looked a little worse-for-wear, just as jumpy as Adanji had become in the last few days, or if possible, worse. He had a few bruises on him and had a slight limp, but was just as eager to leave Pelagiad as Adanji was, and they were out of the town quickly.

 

            Bragor still seemed quite anxious even as the town was but a shadow in the distant night air, but he also looked as though he was trying his best to hide it. Twitches of the finger were swiftly disguised with a wave of the hand, as if fending off invisible flies. A sudden jump he attempted to turn into a trip, nearly stumbling to the ground. “So, how did you manage my release?” he asked suddenly, as if to distract her. She _had_ planned on politely ignoring it.   

“Blackmail,” Adanji said, simply. She was too tired to go particularly deep into detail.

“Wait. _You_ blackmailed _gra-Burbug?!_ ” He gawked at her, dumbfounded.

            “It was surprisingly easy,” Adanji said. Now that she thought about it, maybe it had been _too_ easy. She stubbornly shook the thought. She could have been lucky or the Orc could genuinely have just been stupid and easily manipulated. Still, there was the nagging feeling that something just wasn’t right. Maybe it was just Bragor’s own jittery nature influencing her, or maybe she was just on edge from a lack of proper sleep. “Are you alright?” she finally asked, deciding to point out the obvious. “You seem troubled.”

            “You could say that, yeah… the Orc wasn’t exactly a _kind_ warden…” He laughed nervously. Clearly his time in prison had him shaken. “Where are we going, again?”

            “South Wall. Habasi asked me to escort you there safely.”

            “S-South Wall, huh? Heh… heh. Yeah. Good.” He gaped at her, as if suddenly realizing something. “You know, you talk funny for a Khajiit.”

            “I’m not from around here,” she said as patiently as she could, though she found herself gritting her teeth. She narrowed her eyes and studied him closely, noting that he still looked utterly terrified. “You do realize you’re safe, right?” She forced a smile, “Unless cliff racers suddenly swoop down and carry us off, we have nothing to worry about. You’ll be perfectly fine in South Wall and I think Habasi will be glad to see you.”

            “Y-yeah… Yeah she and I go way back. Good friends. Can’t wait to see her. Heh. I just don’t like being out in Morrowind’s wilderness at night.”

            “I don’t like it that much, either.” That was something Adanji could certainly sympathize with, but she was beginning to think she couldn’t trust the Bosmer. He seemed to be dodging questions and avoiding her eyes. It was silly, of course. Habasi obviously trusted Bragor or she wouldn’t have asked Adanji to free him and ensure his safe return. If she _didn’t_ trust him, surely she would have warned Adanji and told her to be careful. She studied him, noticing his disheveled appearance. “Who gave you those bruises, New-Shoes?”

            “Th-these? Oh, they’re nothing. The guards in Pelagiad aren’t particularly friendly, especially to their prisoners. Heheh...”

            Adanji didn’t remember the Imperial guards ever being friendly, sure, but she had never known them to be outright abusive. At least, most of them weren’t. Then she remembered the rumors of screams coming from the Fort. Maybe the guards in Fort Pelagiad just weren’t watched particularly closely, or were all as corrupt as gra-Burbug. Maybe they paid people off to look the other way while they took out their frustrations on the prisoners. The idea of such a thing was repulsive.

***

            “Can we stop?” Bragor said after a few miles.

            “Here? Now?” They were still in the wilderness and the sky wasn’t any lighter. Adanji assumed it must be close to midnight.

            “Please, I’m very tired.”

            Adanji sighed irritably, but nodded. She had hoped to keep going until they reached Balmora, if only so she could sleep in the relative comfort of her bed, in the safety of her guild, but Bragor was clearly having a rough time keeping up. He was limping and out of breath.

            “You stay here, then. Just sit down by that tree over there.” She nodded towards an oak on the side of the path, “And I’ll gather some wood for a fire. Maybe catch something for dinner.” She doubted the latter. She was a decent enough hunter; she had managed to catch slaughterfish and cave rats in the past, when she lived in Cyrodiil, but in Morrowind, it was more likely she would wind up on the menu.

            “Good luck.” Bragor settled stiffly on his hunches, leaning into the tree trunk. “Hope you find something other than cave rats.”

            She rolled her eyes. Cave rats—the larger cousins of the rodents that often plagued people’s homes—didn’t taste too bad, if they were cooked right. The only concern was whether they were healthy, and it was generally easy to smell the difference—for Khajiit, at least. Disease had a certain thick, sticky aroma that made her gag.

            She returned to Bragor half an hour later, a stack of limbs and twigs under her arm. She had found it all scattered in the brush—an easy feat, this time of year. She dropped the bundle into a pile in the middle of the clearing and set to starting a fire, rubbing the sticks swiftly together to create friction. Hides had taught her how to make a fire ages ago; it had been essential in the winter months. In minutes, a small camp fire was blazing cheerily between them.

            “Did you manage to find any food?”

            She shook her head, “Not unless you’re willing to eat berries. I saw a bush full of them just over there.” She jerked her head to the right.

            He made an unpleasant face; it was more than a grimace, and bordered on an overreaction.

            “Green Pact?” she asked. Many Bosmeri would sooner eat the flesh of sentient creatures—men, mer, and beasts—than touch any sort of flora, due to their belief that the forest was sacred.

            “I just don’t like them, that’s all. Give me sweet rolls or yam bread, or taffy treats any day. Berries have seeds and they get all in your teeth.”

            She smiled. He was beginning to remind her a little of Arathor, who was also very finicky about his food—which was odd, considering just how much he ate. Bragor smiled, too, and they settled into easy conversation.

               

***

            Dawn was fast approaching as they neared Balmora, the sky taking on a yellow tinge. Adanji could see and smell smoke on the air. It looked as though the ash and debris were floating down from the direction of Labor Town. The south end of Labor Town. Her heart leaped into her throat—South Wall was burning! She remembered Caius’ warning from the previous day; he had said the Camonna Tong was going to attack soon. She felt her heart plunge into her stomach and her legs turn to scrib-jelly beneath her.

            “No...” New-Shoes stared blankly ahead, slowing to a halt.

            “Come on!” Adanji snapped, taking the Bosmer by the wrist and pulling him along behind her. “We have to hurry!” _I should have warned them!_

            “No—wait! What if it’s a trap? What if the Camonna Tong’s still there?!”

            “How do you know—”  Burbug’s parting words entered her thoughts: _’Your whole guild will pay!’_ Adanji narrowed her eyes, curling her lip up to reveal her fangs in a snarl. She felt Bragor must have something to do with this—that he had given the Orc information—and she wasn’t about to let him out of her sight. “Never mind—we’re going in!”

            Though Bragor protested, he let Adanji pull him after her and they barged into South Wall, shielding their eyes against the smoke. Adanji’s ears were assaulted by the din of combat, chaos rampant in the cornerclub. As they rounded the corner into the bar an arrow whipped through the air, grazing Adanji’s arm before embedding itself in Bragor’s chest, knocking the elf off his feet.

            She had no time to check on him, instead ducking low and rushing into the fray, eyes wide and alert, searching for the archer who had taken the elf down. She saw him. He had another arrow knocked, aiming right at her. Before he could release, Arathor tackled him, blade cutting a smile into the archer’s throat. The arrow still loosed, but with less force and its aim knocked askew. It penetrated Adanji’s thigh, pain lancing up her left side, causing her to cry out in alarm. It hadn’t struck bone, merely jutting through the flesh, but it _hurt._

            She grit her teeth, finding her footing. She had the urge to rip the arrow out but was smart enough to know it would be a bad idea. She would have to wait for a healer; for now, the shaft would slow her bleeding. She limped on, alert for another attack. She watched as a heavily wounded Habasi ducked beneath an axe wielded by a Dunmer with a red mohawk. Chirranirr, who had been sneaking up on the two, took the axe to the chest just as she’d pounced, screaming out as she fell, her daggers clattering uselessly to the floor. The Dunmer leaned to pull the axe from his victim and fell as he found Habasi’s dagger between his shoulder blades.

            Phane stood bloody over the corpse of some Imperial in heavy armor, his hands clutching a longsword and quivering in silent fury. He was barely able to catch his breath when he had to fend off another attack. Though he spun in a panic, his blade moved in fast, carefully-controlled arcs and jabs, blocking each incoming attack with remarkable precision.  

            A fireball engulfed two men who were cornering Arathor and Adanji whirled to see the weathered Argonian, Only-He-Stands-There, panting in a corner, his hands outstretched, fingers smoking. She was puzzling over it when a movement caught the corner of her eye and she spun, barely managing to dodge an incoming dagger. She recognized the face she had scarred—the face of the thug who had attacked her the night she’d joined the Guild.

            “Outlander!” he jeered, “I warned yeh to leave! Now ye’ll die, with the rest of the n’wah!”

            As fury coursed through her, Adanji completely forgot the blades at her sides, guided by pure instinct. She lunged, slapping the dagger to the side as her opponent struck again, her claws raking down his front as she closed the distance. Her jaws closed tight over the Dunmer’s throat. The copper taste of blood filled her mouth as her teeth pierced flesh, ripping arteries in two. She could hear her own heartbeat racing through her ears, even over the gurgling cry of the Camonna Tong thug as he went limp in her jaws.

            There was a near-deafening silence.

            Adanji flinched as she felt a hand gently grip her shoulder.

            “Adanji can let go. It’s over.”

 She felt her adrenaline ebb, taking her fury with it. Exhaustion replaced all and she felt drained. She released her hold of the thug’s throat and reality caught up with her. Sudden, sharp pain shot through her and she realized a dagger was jutting out of her right side, and she was bleeding heavily. Cuts covered her arm from where she had slapped aside the blade. Bile rose in her throat as she realized how stupid she had been, letting her rage control her. It had been careless. _Could have been killed._ She let Habasi pull her gently off of the dead Camonna Tong agent and leaned against the wall. _I guess this marks my fourth kill. Murder…? No. No, he deserved it. He was attacking me—attacking the guild._

She tore her mind away from such thoughts, firmly focusing on the events around her. The flames which had been burning on overturned tables and canvas banners were being extinguished with frost spells cast by the Argonian. Arathor was crouching on the ground, cradling Chirranirr’s limp form in his arms and weeping silently. Phane was picking through the bodies, occasionally tutting as he took note of the dead. _This is my fault…_ No! She couldn’t have warned anyone. Not without giving herself away.

            A pained cough pulled their attention to the stairs leading to the entrance. Adanji and Habasi exchanged looks and made their way over to the dying Bragor. Habasi sat by him, taking his head and laying it in her lap, carefully pulling his hair away from his sweaty face.

            “Th-they promised...” Bragor began, wincing and coughing again, blood flecking his lips. “They promised… th-they wouldn’t...”

            “Shhh… Everything will be fine,” Habasi said, her voice heavy as she offered him a weak smile. Her right hand flicked to her ear, then fell back on Bragor’s shoulder.

            “I’m sorry… I’m so… s-sorry...” He wheezed, hacking up more blood, thick and black, his body convulsed, and he was still.

            Habasi shook her head slowly before letting it drop, defeated.

            “No need to ask how they found us, then!” Arathor spat, still clutching Chirranirr’s corpse.

            “He wouldn’t...” Habasi flinched and stared blankly ahead, her right hand stroking absently at her ear. “The circumstances...”

            “He confessed! You heard him, Habasi. No ‘circumstances’ excuse a traitor!”

            “Quiet!” Adanji snapped. “Just… be quiet.” She watched Habasi closely. She knew that expression. She was sure she had worn the same one when Swims had died. Habasi had known and trusted Bragor. They had clearly been friends. A fresh wave of guilt washed through her and her heart felt like stone. Of course she couldn’t have warned them without compromising the Blades or her position within their ranks. _Would that have been so bad?_

            “Look here.” Phane picked up a blood-stained, crumpled note and handed it to Habasi. “Found it on Trandel—gods spit on him.” She read it through, her face a mask of disbelief.

            “What is it?” Adanji asked.

            Habasi shook her head, swallowing hard. It appeared as though she would be sick. She passed the letter to Adanji.

            She could only make out parts of the letter, where the ink wasn’t smudged by blood, but the message was clear enough.

   

_‘Sovor Trandel,_

_My agents have found————of our mutual enemies. It took some convincing, but the prisoner has finally spoken, revealing the hideouts of the Thieves Guild. South Wall in Balmora,———Muriel’s cornerclub in Sadrith Mora, and the Rat-In-The-Pot in Ald-Ruhn. A number of my associates—————your Council Club at midnight, the 4th of Frostfall, and will aid you in a raid of South Wall, wiping out the local guildhall once and for all. We——————meet at our usual——-iscuss our plans against the Sadrith Mora and Ald-Ruhn guildhalls._

_Burn this note’_

            Conveniently, the signature was missing, and there was no hint as to who the Camonna Tong’s allies were. Adanji eyed the bodies closely, though nausea rose in her gut to do so. She only recognized a few as Camonna Tong. The fact that there were ‘outlanders’ among the dead was curious. Adanji had been certain that the thugs would never ally themselves with non-Dunmeri.

            “I recognize this one as Fighter’s Guild...” Phane mused, pointing at the Imperial. “His name’s Velus. Never was well-liked, even by his own guild. Makes sense that he might try to worm his way through the ranks using treachery.”

            Habasi only sat in stunned silence, making no response.

            “So we have a clue. Some branch of the Fighters Guild—we’re going to find out who’s responsible, aren’t we?” Arathor said, a note of desperation in his voice. Habasi nodded once.

            “What about House Hlaalu?” Adanji said, recalling the night Habasi had pulled her out of bed and discussed plans between the House and the Camonna Tong. “Anyone you recognize from there?” She glanced at Habasi. The Mastermind didn’t even seem to be listening anymore.

            “No...” Phane said, his eyes narrowing, “Not that I’ve seen.”

            “Xhuth!” Adanji shrieked. Only-He-Stands-There had appeared behind her, done with his rounds, and jerked the blade out of her side without the slightest bit of warning. “What in _Oblivion_ do you think you’re doing?!”

            “Had I warned you it only would have hurt more,” he reasoned, though Adanji wasn’t so sure she believed it. “Hold still.” He gripped the arrow shaft sticking through her leg, snapped it in two, and pulled it out, ignoring Adanji’s strangled screams, then placed his hands on her wounds. A bright blue light spread from his fingertips, a bell-like sound chiming as warmth spread through Adanji’s limbs. She recognized the sensation of flesh stitching itself together as his magic worked, grimacing as new scabs formed, turning unnaturally quickly into light scars which cut thin bald patches into her fur.  

            The Argonian then moved to Habasi, tending to her wounds as well, though she still made no move or even sound, almost as if she didn’t feel the pain. She grunted in what might have been gratitude when the mage moved on to his next patient. Adanji hadn’t known he was a mage. In fact, it seemed no one had known as they eyed him with awe, but everyone had their secrets, especially in South Wall, and there was far too much else to worry about, so nobody commented.

            “We’ll wait ‘til nightfall.” Habasi said at last, speaking to no one in particular. Her tone was completely hollow. “When the city’s asleep. We will bury our dead and feed the Camonna Tong to the slaughterfish. We will need allies. We will need to warn the others...” She stood, took the crumpled note from Adanji’s hand, and walked, in a daze, to the back. Adanji heard the fake wall click as it slid shut behind the Mastermind.

 

            No one could sleep. The entire guild had cleaned up the bar, doing what they could for the scorch marks and grooves where blades had missed their marks, pulling arrows and throwing knives from the walls, scrubbing blood out of the floor. South Wall was clean again, relatively. The bodies lay covered, ready to be carried out that night and the doors were locked tight. Though everyone was exhausted and mentally and emotionally drained, not one person could sleep. Some still scrubbed futilely away at blood stains, just so they could have _something_ to do. The rest lay or sat in their bunks, eyes fixed at no point in particular. Some just wept openly.

            Arathor was one of these, his sobs dry, his throat clearly sore and cracked. Adanji moved over by him, sitting at his side and silently draping an arm over his shoulder. She hadn’t been particularly close to any of the dead, except maybe for Chirranirr, but she felt their loss. They were family.

 

            _She was lying on a hard surface, unable to move or breathe. It was pitch black and there was no sound nor smell nor taste, nor any sensation on her skin. There was just cold, coming from within._

_Simultaneously, she was standing in the center of a dark room. She recognized it as a tomb. A tall figure with a golden mask greeted her, appearing from nowhere. He smiled and spoke._

_“There are many rooms in the house of the Master. Be easy, for from the hands of your enemies I have delivered you.” He turned and guided her to a sarcophagus lit by candles. She felt a sense of foreboding as he pulled back the white sheet that was draped over a frail figure, still as the grave._

_Adanji immediately recognized the figure as herself. Against her will, with her own fingers she touched the figure, and it drew breath. She watched herself open her eyes and rise from the surface. The living dead reached for her throat and the room vanished, flooded with a white light._

 

Adanji felt movement and heard whispers around her. She opened her eyes to see she was still leaning against Arathor. Her cheek tingled from having been pressed so hard against his shoulder.

            “You fell asleep,” he muttered, his eyes accusing.

            “Sorry.”

            He grunted and helped Adanji to her feet. All around her the guild was moving, preparing for the burial. They had all donned black, hooded robes. Adanji and Arathor were handed robes of their own and they both slipped them on, pulling up the hoods.

            Everyone was silent as they divided into pairs, each hauling a body from the guild. They carried no lanterns and said nothing as they stalked through the night, sneaking out of the city undetected. They continued south, following the Odai, walking for what seemed an eternity, finally stopping deep within the swamp, finding a decent patch of dry, solid land under a weeping willow. The only light was from the bioluminescent emperor parasols and the twin moons high above. Masser cast everything in a subtle, eerie red glow. A definite chill hung around them and their breath came out in visible puffs of mist.

            Phane handed out shovels, his face grim, and they set about digging graves.

            Chirranirr, Bragor and Sottilde were buried by sunrise. A thin layer of frost had covered the ground and vegetation by the time the last bit of dirt was patted back into the earth. The Camonna Tong and Fighters Guild thugs had been unceremoniously dumped into the swamp’s waters to be devoured. When all was done, the guild stood in a circle, some wiping sweat from their brows, others leaning against their shovels and looking on.

“Sottilde,” Habasi said, her voice weary but strong as she approached the center of the circle, “You were an odd one, for a Nord. Your ancestors would have called you weak for choosing a life of stealth over the life of a soldier. But let the ancient warriors never say you were without honor. Let them never say you did not die a warrior! May you find warmth and drink in Sovngarde.” There was a long silence as heather, gold kanet, and stoneflower petals were dropped on her grave.

“Chirranirr,” Habasi continued, “Your skills in stealth and acrobatics would make any Khajiit proud. Even the Bosmeri respected your skills. May you find your particular brand of peace in the pleasurable realms of Sanguine, or off in the twisted beauty of the Shivering Isles.” Flowers were dropped upon Chirranirr’s grave, now. Among them, a single, purple willow flower was dropped by Arathor. Until then, even as he had buried her, he had kept his composure. Now tears were yet again flowing freely down his cheeks and a sob racked his body. Adanji placed a hand on his shoulder; she wished she could do more, but nothing she could say would take away his pain.

Habasi sighed heavily as she turned to the last. “Bragor...” She winced. Some members of the guild had been against burying the traitor among their dead. Their eyes bore into their leader. She seemed to fumble for a moment in the silence, trying to find something appropriate to say. “You had fine taste in shoes.” Only Habasi left a flower for the elf. She did not question or accuse the others for the lack of respect, even when Arathor spat on the grave.

They shuffled about, drawing their cloaks tight around them as they began to leave.

“Wait!” Adanji said, suddenly. “Don’t they get headstones? We can’t leave them in an unmarked grave! They deserve better!” Her gut wrenched when she thought of Swims, all alone and forgotten.

Habasi stared at her, eyes full of sympathy. Even Phane betrayed an expression of pity.

“I agree with her,” Arathor said, “Chirranirr…”

“They will be remembered.” Habasi said, her voice ragged, “We will make sure they are never forgotten. _Habasi_ will see to that. But until our enemies are defeated, we cannot leave any trace. It won’t be long before the flowers are eaten by animals or scattered by wind…” Her voice cracked, “The Camonna Tong cannot know who among us died, or how many yet live. When they have been dealt with, we shall return, and we _will_ give Chirranirr and Sottilde proper burials.” She was careful to leave out Bragor’s name, though Adanji was sure Habasi would do something for him as well.

That was the best they would get, Adanji realized, and though it pained her, she saw the logic in Habasi’s reasoning. It was a mercy that they got a funeral at all. She fell back as they made their way to Balmora, bringing up the rear of the group and casting one last glance at the graves; already, a curious scrib had wondered over and was nibbling away at the flowers.

 


	7. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the attack on South Wall, Adanji must help warn the Thieves Guild branch in Ald'Ruhn of the danger.

**Chapter Six**

Preparations

 

Phane began setting up his bar when they returned to South Wall, and the rest of the guild started filing down the trapdoor into the hideout.

Habasi stopped Adanji and Arathor before they could follow. “We do not know when the Camonna Tong and Fighters Guild will regroup,” she said, “We must warn our other outposts. My next task for you is to bring the news of what has happened here to Big Helende and Aengoth.” She handed each of them notes. “Adanji, you will go to Ald’ruhn. Arathor, you’ll go to Wolverine Hall in Sadrith Mora. Take the Mage’s Guild transport. It’s fast and cheap. We must waste no time. When you are done, return to me. Our training in the arts of stealth must be put aside in favor of combat techniques. We must be ready for another attack.”

            Arathor nodded. “Will we be moving soon? We can’t stay in South Wall much longer—they know we’re here.”

            Habasi considered his question, her hand carelessly caressing her ear. “Habasi will meet with Gentleman Jim to discuss where we go from here.” She placed her palm over her eyes, massaging them gently. She looked as tired as Adanji felt. “Go on, then,” she said quietly, “Hurry.”

            Adanji stayed behind for a moment while Arathor left, “Habasi. Are you…?” She faltered. It was a personal question, but the Mastermind looked in need of a friend. She also looked in need of a hug, and Adanji wanted to oblige, but was unsure how Habasi would react to such informality.

            Habasi met her gaze evenly, “I’ll live. Thanks for the concern…”

“I think gra-Burbug might have had something to do with all of this. She may have been involved with the Camonna Tong.”

Habasi nodded slowly, “This makes sense. Habasi will send someone to watch her.” She blinked and looked Adanji up and down as if seeing her for the first time. “Adanji, before you leave, you may wish to wash the blood from your fur. Wouldn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to yourself, mm?”

            Adanji gazed down at her bloodstained clothes and hands, and reasoned that her face probably had a good bit of blood on it as well. The last thing she’d been concerned about since returning to South Wall was cleanliness, but Habasi had a point. She would wash up and put on clean clothes before heading on to Ald’ruhn.

 

***

            Adanji nearly collapsed on the center of the teleportation platform in the Ald’ruhn Mages Guild. “Welcome to Ald’ruhn,” drawled a bored voice belonging to a tall Altmer woman, “Is there anything I can get for you?”

            Adanji doubled over and, as if it had been conjured from thin air, a bucket hovered in front of her face before she could vomit. She wiped her mouth, mumbling an apology as she straightened.

            “Everyone retches their first time,” the Altmer said, still in her bored voice. With a wave of her hand the bucket was clean. Adanji had to wonder if all the sick from visitors to the Mages Guilds was whisked away to the planes of Oblivion and if that might be why the Daedra so hated mortals. “Is there anything else you need?”

            She shook her head, “No, thanks.” She had to find the Rat in the Pot, but she didn’t know who she could trust. She would find it on her own. The Altmer shrugged indifferently and returned to a book she’d apparently been reading before Adanji had arrived.

            Ald’ruhn was a small city, a little over the size of Balmora. It had what might once have been defensive walls, but they were crumbled like bits of broken pottery, worn down by time and ash storms working in tandem. In the distance she could faintly hear drums beating a steady rhythm, though she wasn’t sure where it was coming from. No one else seemed to notice, indicating the sound was normal to them. The people here all wore veils or goggles, or a combination of both. She had read something about this; Ald’ruhn was close to Red Mountain, and suffered frequent ash storms, usually without warning. The citizens wore goggles and scarves or veils to protect themselves from the storm and the blight—though they were unsure how effective the garb was against the latter.

The two gates leading into the city—one on the West, facing the main road, and one on the South, leading to the Buckmoth Legion Fort (an Imperial garrison)—were flanked by towers, somehow standing resilient against the storms. Guards donning their traditional Bonemold armor were stationed atop each tower, equipped with bows and arrows, watching like hawks for any sign of trouble. One gave Adanji a curt nod when he noticed her staring overlong and she hastily directed her attention elsewhere.

Within the walls were buildings of a strange, alien design. Each resembled a carapace of some insectoid creature, and some were adorned with giant tusks from some unknown animal. Hooded, arched doors served as their main entries. There were no set paths or roads throughout the entanglement of buildings, the cracked dry ground yielding little vegetation and providing easy footing anywhere in the city.

Much like Balmora, Ald’ruhn was decorated with banners, streamers, and paper lanterns, which swayed gently in the breeze. They were originally a vivid, blood red—House Redoran colors—though they were covered in a layer of ash, worn by the storms, dulling them to a dark burgundy. Many of the banners were emblazoned with what closely resembled a shalk, unlike Balmora’s sunset-yellow banners, which represented House Hlaalu with scales weighted slightly to the right. The whole city smelled vaguely of sulfur and ash.

Because all the signs were written in the Daedric alphabet, it took Adanji a while to find the Rat in the Pot. It actually wasn’t far from the Mages Guild, just down the road to the left. It had seemed a smaller building on the outside, but when she entered she saw that, like the Mages Guild, much of the building was actually underground. The entryway was a small seating area with a staircase leading up to the bar; it was flanked on either side by stairs leading down into a basement—most likely lodging. To her relief, the establishment didn’t appear to have suffered any damage beyond the typical wear and tear of age and use.

The people here were mostly foreigners. In fact, so far as she could tell, only one of the customers, deep in conversation with the publican, was a Dunmer. “Dro’Tassssharr has found himself a fine-lookin’ woman,” purred a voice behind her. Just as she turned, a male Khajiit put his arm around her. She went rigid and glared at the offending appendage, “Where have you been all this one’s life?”

“Hiding from you.” Through the heavy scent of roasting cave rat and scrambled kwama eggs, Adanji could smell moon sugar on him, as well as alcohol. Whether he was drunk or drugged or both was beyond her, but either way she figured it was affecting his eyesight.

“Ah, playing hard to get, eh? What shay we get a room somewheresh? This one is sure he can change your mind.”

 _I’d sooner kiss a guar._ “How about you just tell me where I can find Aengoth instead?”

“The Bosmer? Dro’Tasarr assssssssuresss fine woman that Bosmer have verrrrrry little between the legsh.” He accentuated his point by holding up his hand, index finger and thumb held less than a centimeter apart. “Yesss, the pretty Khajiit would have _much_ more pleasssssure wif Dro’Tasarr.”

Adanji curled her lip in disgust, claws popping. Just as she pulled back her arm to strike, someone gently grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her away. “Sorry, Dro’Tasarr, she is with me.” The Khajiit looked briefly enraged, then scared as though he realized he was messing with someone dangerous, then merely dejected as he backed off.

Adanji was getting fed up with this, but as the Argonian led her from the grabby Khajiit, she realized he had only meant to save her some trouble. He hadn’t actually had any ulterior motives. Still, she wished he’d at least allowed her to give the pervert a good clawing before dragging her away.

“Sorry about him. This one is Tongue-Toad. Why were you asking about Aengoth?”

“No reason,” she lied.

He scoffed, giving her the once-over. “You look like one of ours.” She cocked her head slightly, bemused. “You looked a bit shifty when you came in here. Like you were trying not to be seen,” he clarified, noticing her confusion. “You should work on that. Walk in like you’re just here for a drink and you’ll blend right in. I am supposing you’re on important business? Why don’t you tell me why you wish to disturb our Mastermind?”

“Ah.” She just realized what he was going on about, chastising herself for not recognizing it sooner. “So, you’re Thieve’s Guild?”

He nodded impatiently.

She straightened, squaring her shoulders. “Sorry, I—I’m supposed to deliver a letter to him. For his eyes only, I’m afraid,” she added, in case this was some trick.

He nodded again, understanding. “You can find him in the back, downstairs. Probably wearing a hole in the floor. Just so you know—and with all due respect to our Mastermind—he is a bit… off.”

As she set off to find Aengoth, she thought back to what Tongue-Toad had said. He’d had had a point; she should work on her demeanor. If he could so easily identify her as a thief just by looking at her, though he likely had an eye for such things, then it was a problem. She didn’t want the Camonna Tong picking her out as easily.

            Just as Tongue-Toad had said, she found the flat-faced Bosmer in a secluded area behind the bar, down the back stairway. He was pacing restlessly, muttering to himself as he picked at his bushy brown beard. Adanji noticed there were patchy bald spots on his chin and a particularly worn area on his left brow. She suspected hair-picking was a bad habit of his.   

            “Aengoth?”

            “Huh?” The Bosmer twitched, blinking a few times as he was pulled out of his thoughts, “That’s Aengoth the Jeweler.” He gave Adanji a sideways stare, tapping his leg feverishly with a restless index finger. “ _Well_? What do you want?”

            “I have a letter for you.” As soon as she pulled it from her sack he snatched it from her. She really was getting tired of people rudely and impatiently ripping things from her hands, but did not voice this as he read it over.

            His face became sheet-white. “So they’re moving? Already? Very bad—have to put everything else on hold. No profit. Not good.” He began pacing again, then stopped, suddenly. “Why still here? Go tell Habasi note was delivered. Unless there is something else?”

            Adanji shook her head, wondering if the elf had something wrong with his head. She was certain the Priests would call it ‘soul sickness,’ but had a feeling this was just one of the Bosmer’s quirks.

            “Good. Planning. Tell Habasi I’m planning defense. Maybe… Traps! No… Dwemer artifacts? No… Wait. Yes! Need scrap metal, soul gems...” he muttered to himself, before returning his attention to Adanji and jumping as if she’d startled him. “Oh! Still here? May have more need of you. Later. Will send someone for you if that’s the case. Goodbye.” He returned to his pacing and beard-pulling, this time completely ignoring Adanji, so she left. She had to sprint to the Mages Guild, an ash storm having blown in, in just the brief time she’d been inside. She hoped that she had made a small difference, at least. Maybe now that the Thieves Guild was on alert, they could better defend against Camonna Tong assaults. Maybe they wouldn’t lose anyone else.

***

            When Adanji returned to South Wall, she was greeted by Arathor. “Habasi isn’t here. I think she’s still in Vivec—if she’s looking for Gentleman Jim, it might take her a while to return.”

            Adanji nodded. “How’s the Sadrith Mora guild?”

            “They’re preparing. Actually, they were already suspecting an attack. They’ve always been a fair bit more suspicious than our other guildhalls.”

            “You’d think, with Habasi as our Mastermind, _we_ would have been better prepared.”

            Arathor winced. “Yeah… you would.” It was clear he felt guilty for never listening to Habasi, always viewing her conspiracy theories as little more than paranoid superstitions. Adanji wondered if he blamed his own skepticism for Chirranirr’s death? Once again she felt guilt tug at her gut. If only she had warned them. It would have been so simple, reflecting on it. She didn’t have to say where she got the information. She could have lied and said she’d overheard two Camonna Tong thugs talking about attacking the guild. Of course… the Camonna Tong didn’t rise to power by being careless. Such a lie would have been utterly transparent.

            “Sorry.” It was all she could say, and Arathor wouldn’t even know why she was really apologizing. It felt hollow, but it was all she could offer him.

            Arathor dropped his gaze, scratching absently at the left corner of his narrow jaw. There was a new scar there Adanji had barely noticed in the midst of the chaos; it crossed under his fingers, all the way up over his nose and nearly met the corner of his right eye. He noticed Adanji staring and broke the silence, “How’d it go in Ald’ruhn?”

            “It went well, I guess. Had a bad encounter with another Khajiit, but that was taken care of quickly enough. Aengoth seems a little...”

            “Off his rocker? He’s always been a bit hyperactive. Like a cave rat on skooma.” He smirked halfheartedly, then produced a letter. “Habasi left instructions for us to fortify South Wall. I think for now that just means to get repairs under way and post a guard at the door, but later that might mean reinforcements and traps we can set off during a raid.”

            “So, we’re not relocating?”

            “She says we don’t have the resources for that.” He handed Adanji the letter and she skimmed over it. “Unfortunately, she’s right. We could hold up in the Vivec hideout, but that might draw attention toward Gentleman Jim. If they kill him, who knows what’ll happen to the rest of the guild? If we stay here, though…” He frowned, brows furrowed. “Let’s just say I hope we can find reliable, powerful allies, and soon.”

 

            The guild was abuzz with activity in the following weeks. Training efforts had redoubled, this time focusing more on combat and defense than on stealth. Habasi took the time to train Adanji one-on-one since she was the least experienced fighter. She taught her how to use her claws more effectively, how to dodge incoming attacks without excessive exertion, and how to endure and recover from a fall. She reasoned that if Adanji could grasp these basic combat principles, she could be a more capable fighter with any weapon. Movement in armor, Habasi said, was learned over time, with use, and depended mostly upon her strength and the armor’s quality and fit.

            South Wall itself had been reinforced with heavier doors and locks. A slot had been installed in the main door so the newly-appointed guard could allow entrance only to those he recognized or who had the proper passwords, which were changed frequently and given to only the most loyal customers. The cornerclub had also been fitted with a number of booby traps which could be set off by guild members before or during combat, turning the tide of battle. Even with all of these precautions, the guild was still on edge. Adanji had noticed that nearly everyone looked as tired as she felt, and several members were becoming irritable. The bar was far less cheery and much quieter than normal, filling South Wall with a dark, heavy atmosphere that matched the steely-gray chill of mid-Frostfall.  

 

***

“Adanji! Come here, Habasi has words for you.” Habasi was sitting at the bar, several bottles in front of her.

            Adanji stared. The Mastermind was utterly beaming, a stark contrast to her mood over the past two weeks. She was surprised to even see Habasi out of her quarters—she had been cooped up all by herself when she hadn’t been training Adanji, refusing to see anyone except when discussing business. “Habasi…” She approached her cautiously, sitting beside her when she motioned for Adanji to do so. Arathor, who was sitting a few chairs away, waved at her frantically, shaking his head in jerking motions as if warning her away from a Blight victim, but she ignored him. “You seem to be in good spirits?”

            Habasi gazed at her for a long moment, then broke out into bitter laughter. “Let Habasi give you some of her wisdom. Morrowind is an _ugly_ place. Ugly people, who hate and fear what they do not understand. Ugly, gray land with an ugly volcano and ugly beasts and ugly diseases.” She threw a hand up, index finger raised and wagging slightly, “But! Here there is also beauty to be found. The beauty of guild mates and… and _loyalty_. The beauty of the grasslands, however harsh, and the great emperor parasols and flower-fields. The beauty of a clear pool of water when you have been traveling, lost, for hours and hours...” Her eyes glazed over, focusing on some far off point as her voice trailed, lost in thought.

            Adanji waved her hand in front of Habasi’s face and the Mastermind snapped to attention, “Is this… going somewhere?”

            “Let Habasi finish!” she snapped, “Adanji must learn… must learn to stop when she sees this beauty. Stop and take it alllll in. Breathe it. Taste and feel and embrace it, holding it close and neverrrrr. Let. _Go_. She must appreciate all the beauty she finds in this harsh land, before it is swept away. _Fusozay Var Var—_ ‘enjoy life’. Enjoy life while she can because all beauty is fleeting.” She slipped into a fit of giggles, then sobered and buried her face in her hands, her elbow almost knocking over an empty bottle of sujamma in the process. Adanji could just see Arathor fixing her with an ‘I warned you’ look plastered on his face.

            “Ok.” Adaniji said, concerned. She knew exactly how Habasi was feeling—she had lost just as much not so long ago, and though she did not know her guildmates well, she mourned them, too. But it wasn’t like Habasi to break down this way—not from what Adanji had seen in her time here. “Just how many of those have you had?”

            Habasi peered inside her mug, tipping it upside down until a single drop hit the counter. “Not enough. PHANE! A refill, if he pleases!” She gave Phane a steady, intimidating glare until he reluctantly complied, then turned to Adanji, whiskers twitching madly, “Adanji thinks Habasi is drunk?” She grinned, “Well, she is! And what does this have to do with anything? Does it make her words any less wise? Ah—it is said by some that Khajiit are at their wisest when intox—intoc—intoximated. Cated.” She hiccupped.

            “I… actually, I’ve _never_ heard that. Ever.” She tried to smile, but only succeeded in a small grimace.

            “Ahh… _Vaba Thjizzrini._ ” Somehow, despite her impaired state, she noticed Adanji’s confusion, “Ha. Do not mind this cat’s ramblings, Adanji.”

            There was a long pause as Adanji studied her leader. She had asked Habasi how she was faring last week and Habasi had assured her that she would be fine. She didn’t look fine. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

            “Ok?!” She laughed again, this time an all-out cackle, “No, Habasi is not ok. Habasi is in mourning. Can Adanji not tell by her big, big smile?”

            Seeing Habasi like this—so fragile—wrenched Adanji’s heart. Maybe if she could get Habasi to talk about it, she might feel better? Or she would feel worse. She swallowed hard, knowing she was taking a risk, then asked, “Is this about New-Shoes?”

            Habasi stiffened, her fur standing rigid, and Adanji was sure she was going to regret asking about such a touchy subject. “Bragor? There is no mourning the traitors… only the memories of what they had once been—what they could have been, had they the honor of thieves.”

            Adanji dropped her gaze, “I’m sorry.”

            “Do not apologize! Adanji did nothing wrong. Chirranirr would never approve of such foolishness!” Habasi bristled a moment, then let her fur lie flat, her ears doing the same. Her voice sounded raw as she continued. “New Shoes… he led Habasi to the guild.”

            “I thought you said Gentleman Jim found you?”

            “He took Habasi in, yes. New Shoes led Habasi here. Found her wandering after she escaped, saw that she was a lost kitten and took her to Balmora. It was not the closest town but Suran was _too_ close—too close to Dren’s plantation—and smaller than Balmora. Not easy enough to get lost in. Too many slavers and mercenaries who would catch Habasi to satisfy their greed. New Shoes and Habasi joined the guild together, when they were too weak to survive the streets on their own. Almost starved before kind, giving Gentleman Jim Stacey took us in out of pity. Trained us not to be so pathetic. Failed to teach loyalty, apparently.” She bristled again, before dropping her forehead into her palms once more. “Bah—Bragor was a good one, once. What must the Camonna Tong have done to him, to make him talk?”

            “He...” Adanji wasn’t sure she should tell Habasi this. She wasn’t sure if it would make her feel better or worse. “He was in rough shape when I found him. Broken. I don’t know how long they must have had him, but I don’t think someone would betray their family lightly.”

            Habasi suddenly slammed a fist down onto the counter. The impact was hard enough to rattle dishes halfway across the room. “But he _did_ betray us! It was _wrong!”_ She suddenly turned her sharp gaze to Adanji, boring into her eyes with such intensity; it was hard not to look away. “Habasi can trust Adanji, can she not? Good friends Adanji and Arathor… they would never betray her?” There was desperation in her voice.

            “No.” Adanji said firmly. She didn’t even need to think about it. “No, we wouldn’t.”

            Habasi nodded slowly. “This… this is good to hear. Please. Leave Habasi. She has said too much and needs to think. Or drink. Or both.”

 

***

            It had been over three weeks since her last meeting with Caius, and Adanji had received her netch armor—which she was still getting used to—and training. She felt ready to return for whatever mission he had waiting. Hopefully it wouldn’t involve any abominations or undead this time. She cleared her throat as she approached Habasi’s desk. The Khajiit motioned for her to sit. Habasi continued to read through various documents for what seemed like an age before she finally moved them to the side and glanced up.

“Can Habasi help you? Does friend Adanji want another training session?”

            Adanji shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The armor fit well, but still felt restrictive, though that had little to do with her discomfort. “I’d like to take a few days to… do some scouting,” she lied. Habasi had been strict on training and no one had been allowed time off for anything short of sleep or necessary assignments. The Mastermind quirked a brow.

            “Adanji does not scout. Where is she going…?”

            “I just—” Adanji searched for a plausible excuse. She couldn’t say she was going to do freelance theft, as such jobs had been put on hold while the guild worked on establishing security. She couldn’t tell Habasi about Caius or the Blades, either, but she was sure Caius would be getting impatient soon.  “I need to get out of South Wall. I feel suffocated here.” It wasn’t a lie. Much as she’d taken a liking to her new family, she was most certainly getting vexed by the dour mood and now-constant, close quarters. _Familiarity breeds contempt, as they say._ “Please. I’ll do any job you can give me as long as it gets me _out._ ”

            Habasi waved her off, “This one has work for you, anyway. There are whispers of an Altmer mage and master of security in Balmora, though Habasi’s sources haven’t been able to locate him. She is not even sure he exists. There are many Altmer in Balmora and none are particularly forthcoming. If you could keep an ear to the ground, I would appreciate it…” She suddenly leaned forward, steepling her fingers, “Maybe ask your friend Caius for help when you go see him?”

            “I—what?!” She locked eyes with Habasi, who fixed her with a flinty, piercing gaze.

            “Perhaps the Blades can find a master of security?”

            Her fur prickled. “H-how did you know?”

            “Habasi didn’t.” Habasi smirked, eyes glittering with amusement for the first time since the attack. “But she did have her suspicions, which you just confirmed. Don’t fret, this one is no fool and she is certainly not suicidal. I won’t say anything, not that anyone would believe me anyway. But Habasi knows an opportunity when she sees one. If anyone can help us, it is a spymaster.”

            Adanji just stared, stunned, cursing herself for not simply denying any knowledge of the Blades. She was glad they were in Habasi’s quarters, where no one could overhear them. Habasi had never given her a reason not to trust her, but now Adanji wasn’t so sure. Things could get nasty if the locals found out about the Blades, and that Adanji worked for them. The Dunmer were suspicious enough of outlanders as it was: the last thing Adanji needed was for them to believe she was spying on them.

            Habasi stood and patted Adanji’s shoulder, as if reading her thoughts. “Don’t worry. You’ve proven yourself around here. I trust you, so you should trust me. This one will keep it quiet around here while you’re gone. If anyone asks, you’re working for Habasi. Technically, that is true.”

            “Right...” Adanji swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling dry. She was shocked to see that she had Habasi’s trust, given the Mastermind’s state in their last real conversation. Perhaps that part of her was just buried? It was likely that Habasi would keep such misgivings hidden while she was sober. “I’ll be going now—to find your Altmer.”

            Habasi caught her arm before she could leave, “Adanji. This one really does trust you and she is sure your Blades can be useful, but Habasi does not trust this Caius any more than she trusts his organization, or anyone who works closely with the Emperor. We can protect you from a lot of things, but not the Empire. Just… be careful, and don’t let the old Imperial send you on anything too crazy.” She dropped her hand, “We’d hate to lose you.”

            Adanji peered into Habasi’s eyes for a moment and saw no deception. The Khajiit truly cared, and maybe the rest of the Thieves Guild did as well. That, or they simply could not afford to lose anyone at this point, but it was still nice to feel needed. While she was uncertain about nearly everything in her life right now, especially about who to trust, she felt warmth flood through her at the thought. “Thanks…  I’ll be careful.”

  
***

            “Adanji! I see you’ve finally gotten some armor. Good. I’m glad you’re here—just in time, too.” Caius picked up a sheaf of paper from his otherwise bare table. A quick glance around told her he had hastily hidden a number of the books that had been stacked about the place under the bed. The corner of one such book peeked out from under the messy array of sheets and blankets that hung off his mattress. “I’ve done some digging and I pulled up some old informants I’d like you to interview.”

            “ _More_ informants?” she blurted. She stopped herself when he flashed her a sternly cocked brow. “Ok—I mean, yes sir. What do you need to know?”

            “I still don’t have everything I need on the Nerevarine and the Sixth House. I haven’t been able to track down any useful books on the subject, so I found informants instead.”

“Ok, I have to ask. What’s so important about local superstition?”

“I already told you about the Sixth House—”

            “—And the disappearances and strange occurrences, yes. I’ve seen some of it with my own eyes and it’s all very creepy. So why haven’t the Blades done anything about it, yet?”

            “Because we don’t have everything we need to know,” he said impatiently, as if talking to a small, impulsive child. “That’s where you come in.”   

            Adanji sighed. She knew this was important, but she just wanted to know why. Of course the Sixth House clearly had something to do with all the disturbances. She had been seeing more and more people wandering around as if they hadn’t slept for days and had heard of more recent disappearances—some people just up and wandering away, never to be seen again. There had been raids on foreigners’ homes, often times just scare tactics, but nearly as frequently people were seriously injured. In almost all of these instances there were hushed whispers of the secret House.

Then there were her nightmares, and the Sleeper who had accosted her in the streets. Though it felt like that had been so long ago, it still haunted her. But what did the Nerevarine have to do with any of it? This was assuming the Nerevarine was even real. On top of everything, she wanted to know why Caius didn’t seem to have anyone else on this, given its apparent significance. “Alright. How can I help?”

            “That’s more like it. I need you to go to Vivec city. As I said, there are three people I need you to talk to. Each owes me a favor and should be willing to cooperate. First there’s Addhiranirr. She’s a Khajiit and Thieves Guild operative. She’ll be difficult to find, I’m sure. I have every reason to believe she’s in hiding. Start your search in St. Olms, but by the Nine be careful what you say—they’re easily offended and they don’t trust Outlanders.”

            “Does anyone?”

            He pointedly ignored her quip, “Like most people, they’re influenced by gold. Money should loosen their lips. Secondly, I want you to find Huleeya. He’s an Argonian and a member of the Morag Tong—an assassin.” Noting her apprehension, he added, “Don’t worry. Unless you have a writ on your head, you’ll be fine. Huleeya is known to spend his spare time at the Black Shalk Cornerclub in the Foreign quarter. It’s the Northernmost canton and closest to the silt strider, so if you take public transport I suggest you start with him.”

            “Alright. So, what about the third?”

            “Mehra Milo. She’s a priestess who works in the library at the Hall of Wisdom and Justice. She’s a friend, so I don’t want you getting her in trouble, got it?” he said sharply, “The Tribunal Temple is suspicious of Outlanders,” _Of course_ , “And won’t appreciate catching Mehra talking to you about religious matters—so don’t let them. Don’t ask for her by name, either. As xenophobic as the temple is, the library is open to everyone, which means you can look around, just don’t do anything stupid. You’ll recognize Mehra Milo by her unusual copper hair and eyes.”

Adanji nodded. She didn’t like that Caius apparently didn’t trust her not to muck things up, but refused to voice that. She had surprised him in the past, so she vowed to do the same now, and keep doing so until her successes were expected rather than astounding.

“Telling you Vivec is a big city would be an understatement. I suggest you take time to learn its layout in case you need to go back for future assignments. Even if you choose to ignore my advice, I expect you’ll need at least a week to find everyone. Here’s some gold to cover your expenses.”

Adanji stared at the coin purse Caius was holding out to her and mumbled something incoherent.

His eyebrows shot up into his hairline—quite the feat given how receded it was. “Excuse me?”

            “Sorry. I was just wondering...” She wasn’t sure how to bring it up. “I’m sure you heard the Thieves Guild was attacked.”

            Caius stared, his expression like stone. He slowly lowered the coin purse. “Yes, I might have heard the rumors. You clearly survived and you look uninjured, so what of it?”

            “I… We’re building defenses, in case there’s another attack. Habasi asked me to find a master of security. An Altmer. She hasn’t been able to locate him, but...”

            “If she hasn’t been able to find him,” Caius growled, “How does she know this ‘master of security’ even exists?”

            “She knows,” Adanji said firmly, though even she had her doubts. “She’s good at getting information.”

            “I see. What does this have to do with me? You should know I have no intention of getting involved in your guild’s matters.”

            “I know—I mean, I know you don’t approve of us—of the Thieves Guild. I was just wondering if you could do some searching—if you have the time. I can pay my own way in Vivec if—if you can help me by finding this man.” She certainly _hoped_ she could pay her own way in Vivec. The Guild paid well, but she hadn’t had any jobs in a while. She was, however, determined to help build South Wall’s defenses in whatever way she could. Not only was it her home, but she felt she owed them that much.

            Caius scratched his chin thoughtfully. Adanji shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and the moments seemed to pass by at a painfully slow rate. It was difficult to look him in the eye, but she stubbornly refused not to, and tilted her chin up slightly—almost defiantly.

            “Information for information, is that it?” he finally said, his voice rough. Adanji nodded once. “Alright, then. I can do that. You return with good information on the Nerevarine and the Sixth House cults, and I’ll tell you where you can find your Altmer—no more than that. I don’t want to be involved in your guild any more than I need to. Talking to and hiring him will be entirely up to you, do you have that? Do we have a deal?”

            She nodded again. She was a little hurt that he would do no more, but did not wish to argue—if she pressed the issue he may choose not to help at all. Besides, she had known already how he felt about thieves. It had been silly to hope for more from him. “We have a deal.”

“Good.” He held out his hand. Adanji stared at it a moment before taking it and giving it a firm shake. “Good,” he said again, “Off with you, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow there is a good chance my copy of Dragon Age: Inquisition will be coming in and I will be busy with it for a while. I apologize in advance if it interferes with updates, but I will still try to upload the next chapter on time. Please don't hesitate to tell me anything I could improve on.


	8. The City on the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adanji picks up more information on the cults and prophecies at Vivec, but has to deal with an overbearing friend along the way.

**Chapter Seven**

The City on the Water

 

            Vivec, named for the living god and member of the Tribunal, was the largest city in Vvardenfell, even bigger than Cyrodiil’s Imperial City. It was built on the waters of the Inner Sea and centered in the southern Ascadian Isles. The city comprised of nine cantons neatly arranged in a sort of grid, each roughly the size of Balmora’s commercial district and connected by high, arched bridges. Each canton towered high above the water and was built like a stepped pyramid, comprised of four tiers and crowned by a domed structure. They were hewn from off-white limestone and embellished with blue-green marble, glittering in the sunlight like sapphires.

            Each district was adorned with its own set of banners emblazoned with that district’s faction colors and emblems. Adanji immediately recognized the Hlaalu canton to the west, covered by sunset-yellow flags and the emblem of scales representing commerce, while the Foreign Quarter, nearest to the silt strider port, proudly displayed gold and blue banners, the dragon symbol of the empire stitched in ruby red. Decorative fountains were built into the walls, crystal-clear water pouring into basins. At the base levels, similar ‘fountains’ splashed sewer water into the canals. Adanji covered her nose as she caught a whiff; it was most unfortunate that such a stunning city should also reek of excrement and rotting fish.

            The locals seemed not to notice the smell as they bustled about the city. Gondoliers ferried people through the canals to various destinations, docks were busy with men hauling crates to and from large boats importing and exporting wares. Fishermen perched on the waist-high walls or docks, occasionally dropping their catch into a nearby bucket or tossing it back into the sea, sometimes standing to carry their bounty to busy merchant stalls. Vendors sold produce such as ash yams, kwama eggs and saltrice, or peddled extravagant jewelry and fine silks.

            As Adanji wandered around, taking it all in, she spotted a sight that made her heart skip a beat. High above the city, just above what must have been the Temple district, floated a giant rock nearly the size of a canton, suspended precariously by unknown means. It bobbed gently in the breeze, like a ship on the ocean, up and down, side-to-side. She could just barely make out what looked like ramps, docks, and rigging built into the rock, and assumed it must have been hollowed out somehow, but she couldn’t understand _why_.

            “You must be new ‘round here,” said a nearby Imperial. Given the din of the hustle and bustle, it was impossible not to hold a conversation without shouting. “Most people just ignore that.”

            “What is it?” Adanji said, then added hastily, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

            “It’s alrigh’,” he said, grinning knowingly, “You’re in the Foreign Quarter. We don’ mind answerin’ questions. Jus’ be careful in other cantons. Anyway.” He nodded toward the rock, “That there’s the Ministry o’ Truth. Local superstition has it the god Vivec stopped the ‘moon’, Baar Dau, from crashin’ into the city and that it’s the people’s faith that keeps it sus…susp—uhh, hangin’ there.”

            She quirked a brow, “Do you believe that?”

            “Eh. I don’ believe in Vivec’s divinity, or nothin’, but you can’t deny he’s got power. After all, _somethin’_ had to stop that thing. Whatever it was, I sure hope the magic doesn’ wear off or nothin’. If that thing falls, it could be cataton… catast… terrible!”

            “Why didn’t Vivec just—you know— _slow_ its fall? Lower it gently so he doesn’t have to worry about it? Seems like it would be a waste of his energy to keep it in the sky. Also seems dangerous, like you said.”

            “Yeah, ‘specially since the Tribunal’s supposed to be keepin’ the Ghost Fence up an’ runnin’, ‘mong other things. Quite curious, indeedy.” The Imperial shrugged, pointed out a man in a full set of gold-plated armor and a mask with a dour visage, and lowered his voice. “Best not to get into that, though. Locals catch you speakin’ ill of their Tribunal, you might just up an’ disappear. See him? He’s an Ordinator. If you aren’ a local Dunmer it’s best to steer clear an’ keep any talk of conspiracies to yourself.”

            Adanji nodded as the Imperial continued about his business, eyeing the Ministry of Truth a moment longer. She remembered Caius telling her about the Temple sending people with ‘soul sickness’ up there, either for healing or for silencing, depending on who you believed. Given recent events, Adanji was more inclined to believe the latter. Why had she heard nothing of Dralosa Athren returning to Balmora, if the Temple really could cure the so-called sickness? Surely it would have popped up somewhere in the rumor mill.

            She shivered, and returned to wandering about the city. She realized she had no clue about where she was going. She had occasionally had trouble finding her way in the Imperial City. If she could get lost in her own home, what chance did she have here? Certainly the banners were helpful, but there were plenty she did not recognize, and she had heard that parts of the cantons were built like a maze. She peered around for the friendly Imperial, and saw that he had disappeared into the crowd. For all she knew, he’d gone home.

            She supposed she could just ask around for directions—the Imperial had said she was in a friendly district. She scanned the crowd frantically, unsure of who might talk to her in the bustling street, and pushed herself against the canton wall, out of the way. Caius had said Huleeya should be in the Foreign Quarter. Adanji was in the right place, she just needed to find the Black Shalk Cornerclub. Taking a deep breath, she weaved through the crowd and approached the nearest stall. It was piled high with fish, clams, crab meat, and what appeared to be dreugh claws and tentacles, with a price tag high enough she assumed it could be nothing else.

“Yes, sir, can I help yeh?” the Bosmer merchant said when he finished with his customer.

“I’m a _woman_ ,” Adanji growled.

“Oh—right, the… the hips an’—an’ the voice. Very feline—feminine. Yes,” he said, ogling her, “But…” His gaze lingered on her flat chest.

Adanji glared. She was perfectly aware of her appearance and she didn’t need an assessment from a stranger.

“S-sorry, ma’am, ‘m very tired. Long day an’ all that. C-can I help yeh? Please? W-would ya like some fish?”

“Black Shalk Cornerclub,” she snapped, “Where is it?”

“Ah! Y-yes, you’ll need to go up one of the Northern ramps. That’ll getcha to the upper level of the Lower Waistworks. Enter the large door on yer left and yeh should be facin’ a balcony in a large room. Past some merchants and apartments, there’ll be a hall to yer left. Follow that all the way to the end and you’ll see a sign with a shalk on it—again, on the left. That’ll be the cornerclub. Nice enough barkeep, but he’ll let just about anyone in. That includes the occasional thug, so b-be on the lookout.” He glanced at her armor and her weapon, “N-not thatcha can’t lookafteryerself,” he said quickly. “Anything else I can help ya with, m-ma’am?”

She supposed she shouldn’t bully the poor merchant. As rude as he may have seemed initially, it had been an honest mistake and he was being helpful. She forced a smile, “No. Thank you, that’s all I needed.”

***

            The Black Shalk Cornerclub was bigger than Adanji had anticipated when she had opened the door. A spacious room, it was filled with warm light and pleasant aromas. Tapestries of various shapes and sizes in brilliant colors lined the walls and a number of round, redwood tables and padded stools were scattered about the place, clearly set up for conversation. Given the time of day, there weren’t many people there. Specifically, Adanji noticed that there was a distinct lack of Argonians.

            The publican smiled as Adanji approached the bar. “What can I do for you, Khajiit?”

            “Do you have any rooms?”

            “You’re in luck—I have one room available at the modest price of fifteen Septims a night.”

            Adanji handed him the coin. “I might be staying a while,” she said, “I’m not sure how long my business here will take.”

            He nodded. “Need some food, then? Drink? I can tell you a bit about the city, if you like. It’s a big place—even the locals get lost sometimes.”

            “How much will that cost me?”

            “Aha! Seems you understand how things work around here.” He grinned, “Five septims and I’ll answer anything—thank you. What do you want to know?”

            “Alright. Tell me about the layout of the city. What are the cantons like?”

“Oh, that’ll take some time to explain. Hope your memory’s good.” He took a deep breath, “There are three bridges in and out of the city proper…” He then detailed the exact layout of the city, canton for canton, and gave simple directions to places nearby, such as the Imperial outpost, Ebonheart. Adanji sketched a rough map on the back of a note from her satchel as he spoke. “I’d suggest you stay north of the Saints,” he concluded, “St. Delyn and St. Olms are poor districts and unfriendly places, and the Temple’s worse. Nobody has business with Vivec, so you’ll never have any reason to be in the palace. That’s the huge, fancy pyramid south of the temple.”

Adanji nodded. It seemed people enjoyed warning her away from places after she had already been ordered to go to them. It also seemed this only happened in service to the Empire. She took a moment to study her poorly-drawn map before folding it up and putting it away.

“What brings you to Vivec City?”

“Oh, I’m new around here,” Adanji said, “Fresh off the boat, if you will, and everyone tells me Vivec is a beautiful city, full of opportunity. I wanted to see if that’s true.”

“Aha! A freelancer, are you? Heh. No idea why you’d come to Morrowind for work. If my wife didn’t love it here so much, I’d insist on going back to Anvil!”

“You’re from Cyrodiil?” Adanji said, surprised.

“Not all Dunmer are locals, you know, as said locals are more than happy to point out. At every opportunity. They just love letting us know how unwelcome we are—how we betrayed our blood because we just happened to be born outside of Morrowind,” he said bitterly, “Er—anyway. I make a decent living here, and as I said, the wife thinks Vivec is just wonderful. Has an alchemy shop here, she does. Well, it’s more a glorified flower shop, but she has proper business sense. You tell people your flowers can be used in a potion to cure diseases or heal wounds and they’ll pay ten times as much for them.” He shook his head suddenly, “I’m sorry, we were talking about you, weren’t we?”

“It’s ok, I really don’t mind.” The less they talked about her, the less she would have to lie.

“That’s mighty gracious of you. My name’s Raril, by the by.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, “You want a start here, there’s plenty needs doing in the Foreign Quarter. You might also try joining the Houses or fighting in the arena…” Their conversation continued for hours, until people started filing in and he had to see to his other customers.

            Adanji watched people come and go in silence as she ate her nix-hound and ash yam stew. Though the place was now crowded, she had yet to see any Argonians, save one female, and Huleeya was a man. She knew she had at least a week to find him, according to Caius, but she still felt impatient and a little bit anxious. She was going to have to keep up her cover story if she planned on staying here, which meant she would have to at least give the pretense of job-hunting. It also meant she would have to be careful how she went about asking people for information on the informants, but that was a given.

            She kept her vigil for another hour, getting a discreet peek at every customer that came and went until the cornerclub was once again nearly empty. With no sign of Huleeya, Adanji decided it was getting late and departed to her room. While her day hadn’t been particularly busy beyond the silt strider ride, her limbs felt heavy and her eyes burned with exhaustion. She enjoyed the privacy, happy to peel off her armor and clothing and throw herself naked into the pillows, drawing the heavy covers up over her ears. In an instant, she was out.

 

***

            Deciding Huleeya would likely visit the Black Shalk during later hours, Adanji left to explore the city bright and early, paying Raril in advance for another night in her room. The streets were less crowded this time of the day, the only activity coming from merchants setting up shop or cleaning old produce from their stands. For the first time in what felt like ages, it was bright and sunny out, a warm breeze blowing in from the south tickling Adanji’s fur. Though she doubted it, she hoped it was a sign of good things to come.

            It was almost noon by the time she reached St. Olms, though she had taken her time, enjoying the sun. The canton was flanked by massive statues of Dunmeri saints, casting the inhabitants in shadow. Fresco paintings adorned the walls, telling the tales of the saints; stories of hope—a great contrast to the tale told in the streets below.

            The grim atmosphere of the place contrasted the warmth of the sun, almost immediately dampening her spirits. There were cripples and sick people lining the walls, sprawled out on thin bedrolls, bowls set out beside them for donations that might never come. Sunken, hopeless eyes followed her as she picked her way towards the entrance of the St. Olms Waistworks, staring hungrily at her satchel, which she instinctively drew to her chest. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help them. After all, she had been in their shoes not so long ago, but she simply didn’t have enough for everyone and was afraid that if she gave one beggar some coin she would be mobbed.

            Things were better inside, though only marginally, and Adanji still stuck out like a sore thumb. Here, at least, there were some shops. A Khajiit hawked simple jewelry made of painted clay beads. Other, similar shops, filled with handmade baubles were set up here and there, near stacks of crates and barrels. An Orc strummed halfheartedly at a lute, gesturing occasionally toward a basket at his feet. Two Temple priests made their rounds, handing out miniscule amounts of food to the beggars. Adanji couldn’t help but wonder why the priests weren’t outside, helping the sick instead. Wasn’t that what the Temple was supposed to do?

            “You, there! Khajiit!”

            Adanji turned. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed this man before; he was the only person in sight who seemed like he did not belong. His vibrant, gold-trimmed clothing was obviously expensive and his fingers glittered with too-many rings. A bulging purse hung at his side. She could easily make out the drakes pressing circular lines into the leather. Despite his obvious wealth, he had a sour countenance. His face was screwed up in disgust and his nose wrinkled, like he smelled dung.

            “Yes, you.” He had a nasally sort of voice, as if he were sick, “You Khajiit stick together like a school of slaughterfish. You wouldn’t happen to know where to find Addhiranirr, would you?”

            Adanji gawked at him in disbelief. Was he genuinely that ignorant? Ignoring the blatant racism, it wasn’t exactly prudent to insult someone before asking for their help, and he clearly had money. Why didn’t he pay off one of the many desperate souls here for the information?   “Who’s asking?”

            “Ugh. I don’t have time for this. Look. It’s very important. Why don’t you tell me what you know so I can be on my way?”

            “What is in it for poor Najjan?” Adanji said coolly, donning her fake Khajiiti accent, “The human has a fat purse, there...”

            “ _Excuse_ me? Do you have _any_ idea who you’re talking to? This money belongs to the Empire!” he said, waving his coin purse around wildly, the coins jangling loudly inside it drawing stares from the whole quarter. “I simply cannot afford to pay off beggars, especially when Addhiranirr already owes—” He cut himself off.

            _Ah. A tax collector, then?_ If Addhiranirr owed him money, that would explain why she was hiding. “You work for the Empire?” She gasped, “Why didn’t you say so?” She leaned in conspiratorially, “Najjan has a problem with some guards in the mainland, yes? What say her friend who is so big and powerful in the Empire helps her out? What say her friend puts in a good word for Najjan? Then Najjan will be glad to tell the friendly agent of the Empire what she knows.” She knew tax collectors didn’t actually have any influence, but he didn’t have to know she knew.

            He grinned, taking the bait, “Alright, er… Najjan, was it? I’ll be happy to give your name to the guards when I return to the mainland.”

            She feigned excitement, putting on a large, innocent grin, “Najjan will be free, then?”

            He nodded, “Yes, yes, you’ll be, um… free. Now tell me where Addhiranirr is.”

            “Najjan saw her friend Addhiranirr this morning. Her friend tells Najjan she must hide, though she does not tell Najjan why. Then Najjan saw her friend Addhiranirr boarding a ship not an hour ago. Najjan thinks she saw the ship heading south.”

            “South?” the tax collector said, “Of course! She must think she’ll be able to give me the slip in the mainland. Well, she won’t be able to hide from me! Thank you, Najjan. You’ve been a big help. I promise when I return to the mainland I will put in a good word for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a boat to catch.” With that, he was gone.

            Adanji smiled to herself. That had been easier than she’d thought. Now she just had to find out where Addhiranirr was really hiding. She hoped she hadn’t accidentally pointed the tax collector in the right direction, though she doubted it. If the Khajiit had information for Caius, it was unlikely she would leave.

            Placing a hand on her coin purse, Adanji approached a merchant at one of the stalls. He was busily threading a piece of twine through teal beads and didn’t seem to notice her. “Excuse me,” she said, drawing his attention, “Have you seen a Khajiit by the name of Addhiranirr around here?”

            The merchant cocked a brow at her, “Addhiranirr? Seems she has friends everywhere. There were a man in fancy clothes come by, earlier, asking around for her all this morning. Very loud. All that money, though, and he were too stingy to spare a single coin for the information.”

            “Yes, I took care of him.” Adanji said.

            He grunted, “That’s nice. I’d be sorry to see all that coin go, but, as I said; he weren’t interested in sharing.”

            “He may not have been, but I am.” Adanji pulled out a few coins, passing them as discreetly as she could across the counter, but leaving her hand firmly on top of them, “ _If_ you can tell me what I need to know.”

            He glanced down at her hand. “How much?”

            “That should be around fifteen septims, by my estimate.”

            “Ten more, and my family can eat good, tonight.”

            She nodded, adding the coin to the pile, “Addhiranirr?”

            “I saw her sneaking ‘round yesterday. She looked like she were heading for the Underworks.”

            “Thanks.” Adanji removed her hands, allowing him to scoop the pile into his strongbox.

            “Mm-hmm.”

 

            The Underworks was the lowest tier of the canton, set right at water-level, and served as the city sewers. Adanji assumed they must flood at high tide, given the water stains along the walls. The stench here was almost unbearable. _No wonder Addhiranirr’s hiding here. That poncy tax collector wouldn’t set foot in such a place._

            Up ahead, she saw a shadowy figure disappear around a corner.

            “Addhiranirr?” she said.

            “Sss! Go away.”

            Adanji ignored her, instead walking right up to the Khajiit, slowly and with her hands raised to show she was unarmed and meant no harm. “Caius sent me. I’m supposed to talk to you.”

            “Is that so?” She bristled, “So, Caius tells you, ‘Speak to Addhiranirr,’ and you have done this thing. Good job,” she said sarcastically, “Now go away. Addhiranirr does not wish to talk to you right now, and because why? Because Addhiranirr is, at this moment, distracted by a very nice Census and Excise agent who also wants to speak to her.” She shifted on her feet, as though she was about to retreat.

            “Wait! I took care of him.”

            She stopped, giving Adanji her full attention. “You did?”

            Adanji nodded, “I told him you went to the mainland. He should be getting on a boat there, soon.”

            “Huh. This is a clever trick.” Addhiranirr suddenly smiled, her fur lying flat. “Now Addhiranirr can leave the sewers. She was getting tired of the smell. Indeed, you have done Addhiranirr a good service, and now she is very pleased to be helping her friend in any way she can, especially if it makes Caius happy.”

            “Good,” Adanji said, “Caius wants to know about the Sixth House and Nerevarine cults.”

            “Yes, of course. Addhiranirr knows nothing about this Nerevarine cult, because it is just silly superstition. So you tell Caius this. Nobody in her right mind pays any attention to this nonsense. Prophecies and ancient heroes reborn and other silliness—bah! Fuzzy tales for little kitties.” She waved her hand dismissively, “Now, this Sixth House cult, this is something Addhiranirr knows about, because it is about smuggling. Some smart smugglers are suddenly too busy for their old clients, because they have a new employer, the Sixth House, who pays _very_ well. But what do they smuggle now? Addhiranirr doesn't know, because they are very secret. This is odd, because these smugglers are always loud and bragging, and now they hush up like fat-bellied kitties full of sweet-meats.”

            “That’s it? No hint as to what they’re doing?”

            Addhiranirr shook her head firmly, “None, and Addhiranirr pays very close attention to these things, so she should know. Smuggling is big business, you see. Addhiranirr can tell you one thing, though. Whatever they are smuggling must be very bad. Very dangerous.”

 

***

            Adanji was noticing a pattern. Every time she asked a question, the answer only left her with more questions. It felt like an endless cycle. When she left the sewers her mind was buzzing with so many conspiracies she almost didn’t notice the shift of weight in her bag. She jerked out of her daze and saw a youth darting away with her coin purse. “Hey!” She darted off after him, all other worries, for the moment, gone. “Get back here!”

The boy shoved through the crowded streets, weaving through a tight throng of people, and Adanji was sure she was about to lose him. As she rounded a corner she was shocked at what she saw. A lean elf with a long, loose blonde ponytail had caught the child and was admonishing him as he took the coin purse.

“Arathor?!”

The Bosmer caught her eye and smirked. “I really am getting tired of fetching your junk for you, you know.”

“What on Nirn are you doing here?”

“Habasi sent me to look after you.” He let the boy run off as he tossed Adanji her coin purse.

She frowned. “Doesn’t she trust me?”

“I think so.” He shrugged. “I don’t know why she wouldn’t. I think she just wants you to be safe. She told me to help with your assignment.”

“Oh… really?” Her heart sank. How was she supposed to get information for Caius without Arathor finding out her secret? “What did she tell you about it?”

            “Nothing. She told me you would fill me in.”

            _Great._ At least she could make something up. “Well, I’m staying at the Black Shalk Cornerclub. Meet me there and I’ll tell you all about it, then.”

            “Meet you there? Not a chance!” He jabbed her in the side with a playful elbow, “I’m going _with_ you. It’s a pretty sorry thief who gets her pockets picked, after all. If I don’t watch you, you might get conned, or spill all your gold into the sea! And that would be just terrible.”

            Adanji sighed heavily. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever live this down?”

“Not a chance.”

“Of course. Come on, then...” They continued their trek in relative silence, giving her time to make up a story. It bothered her that Habasi sent Arathor to spy on her. _I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,_ she thought.Habasi seemed to be having issues trusting people, judging by her drunken rant, and she had just learned Adanji was with the Blades. That didn’t make the situation any less annoying, however.

 

            “Adanji.” She froze. _That voice._ She and Arathor turned to see a Dunmer, his empty eyes fixed solely, unblinkingly, on Adanji. “I am a sleeper. One among many.”

            Arathor cursed, putting a hand protectively on Adanji’s shoulder. She didn’t move. She felt rooted to the spot and her fur began to rise. The Dunmer kept talking in that hollow, lifeless voice. The nearby crowd began to stare, backing away in horror. “Not again,” someone whispered. “Someone call the guards!”

“Your Lord Dagoth Ur calls to you. The great and true Lord has a message for you. A warning. Leave Morrowind. Spread the word that Dagoth Ur is Lord. That he is coming and will drive the n’wah from the land! The outlanders will leave or they will perish. Resdayn will be restored its rightful owners.”

            “Yeah?” Arathor growled, “Well my great and true fist has a message for your face!” He rushed the Dunmer, punching him across the jaw. Before the sleeper could recover, Arathor grabbed Adanji by the wrist and pulled her away. “Come on, Adanji, let’s get out of here! Hurry!” The crowd parted, letting them pass just as an Ordinator approached from the opposite direction, drawn by the chaos. They didn’t stop running until they were in the safety of Black Shalk.

            “So…” Arathor started after they had a minute to catch their breath, “That was… unsettling.”

            “And that was an understatement.” Adanji sat at a table in the corner and motioned to Raril to bring two drinks.

            “You know, I’ve encountered those ‘sleepers’ before, but they’ve never used my name,” Arathor said, twirling a lock of hair between his fingers. “They just called me ‘Outlander.’ Did you know that one?”

            “No,” Adanji said, drumming her claws on the polished surface of their table, “I’ve never even seen him.”

            “Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of a sleeper calling _anyone_ by name. That’s...”

            “Unsettling?” she said with a wry smile.

            “Understatement.”

            She had to agree. What could it mean if the Sixth House or the Sleepers or whoever was interested in her? Could it have something to do with the reason the Emperor had sent her here? She had no answers, but every possibility racked her nerves.

            “Have a good day in our city, ma’am?” Raril asked as he set down the bottles of flin, placing empty glass mugs beside them. “I’m guessing not,” he said when he noticed her expression. “Locals give you trouble?”

            “You could say that.” Adanji gratefully took a deep drink of flin, relaxing as the warmth spread through her limbs, “No luck finding that job, either.”

            “Well, I’m sure you’ll have better luck tomorrow. Who’s this?”

            “A friend. He valiantly saved me from a pickpocket.” She smirked inwardly, catching Arathor’s eye. He had not missed her sarcasm.

            “Saved you from a pickpocket, eh?” Raril scrutinized the Bosmer suspiciously, “Well, I’d be careful of charity from strangers, ‘round here. This Bosmer might’ve had a hand in that theft and played the hero so he could get something _more_ out of you.”

            “ _Excuse me?!_ ” Arathor sputtered, face turning red, “That’s—”

            “I’m just pickin’,” Raril said, then leaned in to Adanji, “But seriously. If this man gives you trouble, now, you let me know.” He strolled off, whistling to himself.

            “What was _that_ all about? Who does he think he is?”

            Adanji shrugged, trying to hide her smile and failing miserably. “We had a long chat yesterday. I guess he took a liking to me.”

            “Mmhmm...” He lowered his voice, “That’s a nice cover story, by the way. Traveler looking for work? Oldest trick in the book.” Adanji wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not, so she said nothing. “So. Speaking of work, what’s this job Habasi has us on?”

            “Has _me_ on,” Adanji corrected, “She wanted me to look into the Camonna Tong.”

            “Really?” he said incredulously, “Seems more like work for someone else. Someone of higher rank.”

            “It’s just information gathering, that’s all,” she said quickly, “Habasi already set up the informants, too. I just have to talk to them. She’s seen some strange patterns and wants to make sure the Camonna Tong isn’t involved.”

            “Alright, so what sort of patterns are these?”

            Adanji had to work hard to keep her exasperation in check. If Arathor was going to follow her around he would likely hear something about the Nerevarine and Sixth House. He had to expect it, but Adanji had a feeling he wouldn’t accept it. “All these disappearances? The attacks on outlanders? Habasi thinks it reeks of the Camonna Tong, but she’s heard whispers about local superstition. She wants to make sure the Camonna Tong isn’t working with cultists.”

            “Cultists?”

            She hesitated. “The Sixth House and Nerevarine cults both hate outlanders at least as much as the Camonna Tong. She wants information on both groups in case they’re in cahoots with them. They might make dangerous enemies.” That was true enough, at least. The best lies, after all, were hidden bits of truth.

            He stared at her unblinkingly, as if that might allow him to burrow into her head and read her thoughts. It was all she could do not to shift under his gaze. Finally, he relented. “I don’t see why she’s wasting her time with this nonsense, but if that’s our job...”

            “I know,” she said, attempting to assuage his concerns, “I don’t understand it, either, but I trust Habasi.” _Even if it seems like she doesn’t trust me._

 

***

            “Why did you pick this place?” Arathor said the next day when Adanji woke. He had been waiting outside her door, loitering against the wall and startling her as soon as she left her room. She wondered how long he’d been up.

            “Beg pardon?”              

            “The Black Shalk. It’s completely dull. No dancing girls, no friendly games of Nine-holes, and it smells far too clean. In fact, I don’t think one person has smoked a skooma pipe in here since the city was built. And you, insisting on having your own room? It’s not like you don’t share a room with an entire guild every night anyway.”

            Adanji rolled her eyes. “ _You_ just wanted a free bed. Anyway, I happen to like the change of scenery, and I think it’s nice to be alone sometimes.” She wondered why Arathor had even mentioned the dancing girls. He hadn’t been paying much attention to them, since Chirranirr’s death. She kept that thought to herself.

            He heaved an over-dramatic sigh, “If you insist. Just promise you aren’t going all respectable on me?”

            “Me? Respectable?” She grinned, “Never.”

 

            Adanji had tried to get rid of Arathor after breakfast. She had told him how she could take care of herself, how the information she was gathering really wasn’t all that important, and had even tried to convince him how very boring the library would be, but he had refused to listen. “Habasi wanted me to help you,” he had said with a note of finality, “So I’m going to help.”

            The walk to the Temple canton had been long and Arathor hadn’t shut his mouth once until he saw the Ordinators at the doors, glaring at him from behind their cold masks. “You’d think they’ve never heard of humor,” he whispered into Adanji’s ear as they neared.

            “Shh!” She was feeling uneasy enough just being swallowed up by Baar Dau’s great shadow; she didn’t need any reason for conflict with the guards. She smiled at the Ordinator as he moved to stop them, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.

            “What do you want, _scum_?”

            “I’m sorry.” She worked to keep her voice even, despite his hostile greeting, “I heard the library is open to everyone? Was I wrong?”

            “No. Unfortunately.”

            “Then may we go in?”

            She was certain he was sneering under those expressionless golden lips. “Go. Do not cause trouble or we will gladly exact justice. Now _move along._ ”

            She was thrilled to be away from the Ordinator’s leery stare as they entered the Hall of Justice, where the library was located, but the relief was short-lived. It was full of Ordinators. Arathor mercifully kept his mouth shut as he followed her. Remembering Caius’ instructions, she had warned him not to draw attention to them or to Mehra Milo, and he seemed willing enough to comply to those wishes, now.

            She tried to look natural as she browsed bookshelves, occasionally picking something up to skim through, before gingerly putting it back on its shelf. Finally, at the end of an aisle, she saw Mehra’s copper hair. Seeing no one else, she approached her. “Mehra?” she hissed.

            Mehra nodded, “Can I help you?”

            “Yes. I was doing some research on the various schools of magic, you see. I’d like to join the Mages Guild and want to educate myself, but I don’t know where to start. Do you have any books you could recommend?” _‘Caius sent me,’_ she mouthed so Arathor couldn’t hear or see from his position behind her. _‘The Bosmer isn’t with me.’_

            Mehra stared a moment, gaze shifting between Adanji and Arathor, then nodded again, “Yes, Outlander, I have just the thing. Follow me.” She held up a hand to stop Arathor, “Only the Khajiit,” she murmured. Arathor glowered, but held his tongue, apparently remembering not to make a scene. He returned to browsing the many books as Mehra led Adanji to a back room. Once they were alone, she spoke, “You’re the one Caius sent?”

            “Yes.” Adanji said quietly, in case an Ordinator walked by, “He wanted to know about the Sixth House and the Nerevarine Cult.”

            “I’m afraid I know nothing about the former,” Mehra said, “But I know a good deal about the latter.”

            Adanji pulled a slip of parchment from her pack, ready to jot down notes. “Please tell me everything you know.”

            “Ready? Alright… The Temple worships Nerevar as a saint and hero,” Mehra began, “But prophecies of his reincarnation are punished as wicked heresy. The Nerevarine cult claims the Tribunal are false gods, hence the Temple's persecution of the Nerevarine cult. A group called the Dissident Priests disputes Temple doctrine on the Nerevarine prophecies. The proscribed book 'Progress of Truth' describes their beliefs. Get a copy of the book for Caius Cosades. It will tell him things he needs to know about the Nerevarine cult.”

            Adanji jolted down _Progress of Truth_ in the upper left corner of her notes, underlining it twice. “What are the Dissident Priests?”

            “They dispute Temple doctrine, and are outlawed and persecuted by the Temple. Ordinators arrest and imprison heretics, and the Empire cannot interfere. In brief, the Dissidents challenge the purity and divinity of the Tribunal, suggesting their powers are sorcerous, not divine, and perhaps akin to the powers of Dagoth Ur. They also condemn the arbitrary power of the Ordinators, and accuse the Temple hierarchy of self-interest and corruption.”

            “I suppose that explains why the Temple persecutes them.”

            She nodded grimly, “But there’s more to it than that. Their attacks on the Temple weaken the faith, and leave the people defenseless against the influence of Dagoth Ur. Faith is what strengthens the will of the believer against Dagoth Ur's lies. Faith is the source of the divine power that sustains the Tribunal in their battle with Dagoth Ur. Since the Empire invaded, some Dunmer have turned away from the Temple; that's why Dagoth Ur grows stronger, why blight storms and monsters threaten the land.”

            Despite the general insistence that this was all superstitious nonsense, small shiver ran down Adanji’s spine. She ignored it, jotting down the last of her notes. “Is there anything else?”

            “Nothing important. Remember to find a copy of _Progress of Truth_. The Temple has outlawed the sale or possession of the book, so it’ll be hard to find. We have a copy here, but I fear I'm being watched by the Ordinators here, so I can’t give it to you. A safer plan would be to search local booksellers. Some ignore Temple bans on outlawed books for profits, or for principles.”

            “Wait, back up. You’re being watched? Why?”

            Mehra sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest. “I do not care for Temple politics, but I have read _Progress of Truth,_ and it troubles me. I have friends—former priests—who have gone into hiding, so I am bound to come to the attention of the Ordinators. I am careful, but I'm afraid. I'm no secret agent, like you or Caius. Sooner or later I, too, must go into hiding. If it is not too late...” She shuddered. “When you return to Caius, tell him I am worried, and that if something goes wrong, I will leave a message under the agreed code word ‘amaya’.”

            Adanji nodded, scribbling down ‘ _amaya_ ’ under _‘Progress of Truth,’_ and stuffing the note into the bottom of her pack, well out of sight. “You seem to trust Caius a lot,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, he seems honorable enough, but I didn’t expect a Temple priestess would trust any outlander.”

            “I understand your confusion,” she said, “But Caius is a dear friend. Like me, he admires the best traditions of the Temple; charity for the poor, education for the ignorant, protection for the weak. He is a Westerner, but he has come to love our land and our people. But like me, he distrusts the arbitrary power of the Ordinators, and like the Dissident priests, he suspects the Temple is hiding something. He sees the failing virtues of the Temple as a threat to Morrowind’s political stability.” She glanced around nervously, lowering her voice as an Ordinator passed them by. “Please, I have told you everything. You must leave before they get too suspicious.”

            She nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll get your message to Caius. Be careful, and thanks for the information.”

            Adanji found Arathor where she had left him, reading Sermon Fourteen of _The 36 Lessons of Vivec_ with acute interest. “You should read this,” he whispered, “Vivec gets up to some crazy stuff. I mean, you’ll never guess what he’s doing with _Malog Bal!_ I’ll give you a hint; there’s lots of _polishing_ and _biting_ of _spears._ ”

            Adanji shook her head, “Later. Come on, we’re leaving.”

            “Aw, so soon? You said it would be boring here, but I think—ow!” She cuffed him over the head, “Alright, alright, fine.”

            “Sorry,” she whispered, “I’d just rather be out of here as soon as possible.”

            “Did you get what Habasi wanted?” he hissed.

            “Yes.”

            She could feel the eyes of Ordinators burning into their backs as they left.

 

***

            “So what was that all about?” Arathor said when they were out of earshot.

            “What?”

            “Your informant refusing to speak with me?”

            “Oh. That. I think she was told to expect one person, not two. Since she expected a Khajiit...” She trailed off, letting Arathor connect the dots himself.

            He nodded. “Alright. Well, did you at least find out anything useful?”

            “Not particularly,” she lied, “You were right, it’s just nonsense. The Nerevarine isn’t real and the cult is nothing more than a bunch of savages. A complete waste of time.”

            “Uh-huh. So why did we have to rush out of there?”

            “The Ordinators were getting suspicious. I don’t like them.”

            “Yeah… I guess that’s fair.”

            “Good.” She elbowed him playfully in the ribs, “Come on, it’s getting late and I’m starving!”

            The Black Shalk cornerclub was bustling with activity when they returned, several drunks talking loudly over the din. A Nord was rambling about how she had earned a small fortune in the arena, only to lose it all gambling. A Bosmer was complaining about his nagging shrew of a wife. An Orc boasted proudly of his daughter becoming a smith, and how she would one day run his shop. None of the gossip concerned Argonians or cults. Adanji was just about to sit down when she heard a commotion to her right.

            “Well, well! What ‘ave we got, ‘ere?”

            “Looks like a filthy lizard, boss.”

            _Lizard?_ Adanji cast about for the source of the voices and saw, in the far corner, a black-scaled Argonian in light leather armor being surrounded by three Dunmer with profoundly vague expressions. She had a sneaking suspicion that the Argonian was her informant. She tried to catch Raril’s eye, hoping he might do something, but he was studiously scrubbing at a non-existent stain on his counter, pointedly ignoring the ruffians.

            Adanji frowned, disappointed, and cautiously approached the small group, her mind reeling. Normally, she wouldn’t get involved, but if this was indeed Huleeya…

            “My boys here don’t like you,” she heard the squat Dunmer sneer. He must be the ringleader.

            “So sorry,” the Argonian hissed sarcastically. He seemed unusually calm. Adanji glanced between the three of them, noting they weren’t armed, and relaxed a little.

            “I don’t like you, either,” the squat one persisted.

“Yes, well, I’d love to help you with that problem, but I simply don’t have the time to cure every imbecile in the world of their bigotry.”

            “Whas’ with all them big words? Yer jus’ askin’ fer trouble, aren’t ya?” said the tallest one who closely resembled a mountain.

            “Maybe you should leave,” spat the ringleader.

            “Yeah. Yer not welcome here.”

            “Oh really?” the Argonian said, drawing himself up and placing a hand on the hilt of his blade. “See, in case you weren’t aware, we’re in the Foreign Quarter. Since pretty much every non-Dunmeri race is, by your rather broad definition, a Foreigner, I’d say I’m _more_ than welcome. Maybe _you’re_ the ones who should leave.”

            “Excuse me, is there a problem here?” Adanji said just as the ringleader looked ready to strike. She tried to puff out her chest to look imposing and felt like a complete idiot as she did so. The four spun around and gawked at her, the mountain of an elf guffawing as if he thought a scrawny Khajiit wouldn’t pose much of a threat.

            “You could say that. I was going about my business when I was accosted by these troublesome fools,” the Argonian said, “They have harassed me before and I do not think I will have peace for some time.”

            “Hey! Who’re ya callin’ fools?!”

            “Hold on,” Arathor muttered as the Dunmeri returned to their bullying, “I’ve got this.”

            “What are you—” Her jaw dropped in disbelief as she saw Arathor approaching an enormous, besotted Orc from behind, lift a chair, and break it over his head. The pub went deathly quiet. Even the three Dunmer thugs turned to watch. The Orc stood, hands balled into fists, and rounded on Arathor.

            “Er—I didn’t do it!” Arathor said quickly, hiding bits of broken stool behind his back, “They made me! The Dark Elves! It was their idea!” He pointed desperately to the three Dunmer, who began to back away slowly. The Orc growled at Arathor, knocking him out with a single backhand before bull-rushing the unfortunate thugs.

            “BAR FIGHT!!!” a drunken patron screamed. It was all downhill from there.

“B’veck!” Raril cursed, the color draining from his face as he ducked down behind his bar. The cornerclub exploded into the raucous of fist and bottle hitting flesh and bone, nearly drowned out by drunken shouting and wild threats.

            “I think they’re distracted!” Adanji shouted to the Argonian.

            “I’d say so,” he replied. Adanji ducked and weaved through the crowd, grunting as she caught a fist in the arm, grabbed Arathor and dragged him down to her room with the Argonian’s help. He had done something incredibly stupid, but he was her friend and she couldn’t just leave him to get trampled on.

            “You sure your friend will be ok?” the Argonian asked as they exited out the back.

            “Yeah, he’ll be fine,” Adanji said. “So, I have to ask. Why didn’t you just kill those three? They weren’t armed. It would have been easy.”

            “My code forbids it,” he said, all but confirming Adanji’s suspicion. “I cannot kill without a writ, unless I am attacked first. Those fools know it, too, and assault me only with words. Thanks for the help, by the way.”

            “It’s no trouble, Huleeya, though I think you owe your thanks to Arathor.” She turned, cocking her head, “You _are_ Huleeya, right?”

            “That is correct. Am I to assume you’ve been looking for me?”

            “Yes. Caius sent me.”

            “Ah, so you’re the one? Unexpected. Come, we will go to my friend Jobasha’s bookstore. There, we can talk in private.”

            Jobasha’s Rare Books was on the other side of the canton, and up some stairs. Though a ‘closed’ sign hung on the door, it wasn’t locked. When they entered, the first thing Adanji noticed was the subtly pleasant scent of leather and old parchment, as well as pine and dust. It reminded her of First Edition, back in the Imperial City.

            “Yes,” Huleeya said as he closed the door behind them, “We should be free from distraction here. What are your questions?”

            Adanji asked about the cults.

            “I can tell you about the Nerevarine and his cult, but I have no information on the Sixth House.” Adanji had come to expect an answer like that.

            “Alright,” she said, “So what can you tell me about the Nerevarine?” The question was getting so old to her, it felt like some boring, daily routine. However, she knew the answer was important, so she paid attention, hoping to learn something new.

            “To understand the Nerevarine cult, you must understand the history of the Ashlanders. Nerevar means something very different to the Ashlanders from what he means to Dunmer of the Great Houses. You should also know about the persecution of the Nerevarine, and the legacy of the False Incarnate, for the Nerevarine cult is at the heart of the ancient conflict between the nomadic Ashlanders and the settled Great House Dunmer. Here is a summary for Caius, but ask your questions, and I'll answer in detail.”

            Adanji took his summary, written in elegant hand, skimming over its contents.

_‘The History of the Ashlanders and the Nerevarine Cult_

_In First Era barbaric Dunmer culture, settled Dunmer clans (the Great Houses) and nomadic Dunmer tribes (like the Ashlanders) were roughly equal in numbers and wealth. Under the civilized peace of the Grand Council, and with the strong central authority of the Temple, the economic and military power of the settled Dunmer quickly outstripped that of the nomadic Dunmer. The nomadic Dunmer were marginalized into the poorest, most hostile land. In particular, into the Vvardenfell wastes. For the Ashlanders, the return of a reincarnated Nerevar represents a longed for and largely romanticized Golden Age of Nerevar's Peace, when the nomadic tribes enjoyed equality with the settled Dunmer, and before the Dunmer people had for the most part abandoned traditional ancestor worship for the autocratic theocracy of the Tribunal Temple._

_The Nerevar of the Ashlanders_

_This is the story of Nerevar as an Ashlander might tell it._

_In ancient days, the Deep Elves (Dwemer) and a great host of outlanders from the West came to steal the land of the Dunmer. In that time, Nerevar was the great khan and warleader of the House People, but he honored the Ancient Spirits and the Tribal law, and became as one of us. So, when Nerevar pledged upon his great Ring of the Ancestors, One-Clan-Under-Moon-and-Star, to honor the ways of the Spirits and rights of the Land, all the Tribes joined the House People to fight a great battle at Red Mountain. Though many Dunmer, Tribesman and Houseman, died at Red Mountain, the Dwemer were defeated and their evil magicks destroyed, and the outlanders driven from the land. But after this great victory, the power-hungry khans of the Great Houses slew Nerevar in secret, and, setting themselves up as gods, neglected Nerevar's promises to the Tribes. But it is said that Nerevar will come again with his ring, and cast down the false gods, and by the power of his ring will make good his promises to the Tribes, to honor the Spirits and drive the outsiders from the land._

_Persecution of the Nerevarine Cult_

_The Tribunal Temple regards the mysticism and prophecy of the Nerevarine cult as primitive superstition. The Ashlander Ancestor cults and the Nerevarines in particular have always decried the worship of living Dunmer as abominations, suspecting the unnatural lifetimes of the Tribunal to be signs of profane sorcery or necromancy. Though the authoritarian and intolerant Temple priesthood has always been inclined to tolerate Ashlander ancestor cult practices, they have always threatened Nerevarine claimants with death or imprisonment. And while generally tolerant of various cult worships, the Imperial Commission of the Occupation outlaws cults hostile to the Emperor and the Empire, and threatens members of such cults with imprisonment or death. The Ordinators are allowed a free hand when dealing with outlawed cults like the Nerevarines._

_Peakstar and other Incarnates in the Past_

_In the past, others have claimed to be the reincarnated Nerevar of prophecy. The most recent is known as Peakstar, a mysterious figure who has reportedly appeared and disappeared among the Wastes tribes over the last 30 years. The Temple notes that these False Incarnates discredit the Nerevarine prophecies. Singularly, and illogically, the Ashlanders acknowledge a history of false claimants, calling them "Failed Incarnates," but they regard them as proof of the validity of the prophecies, rather than contradiction. Among the Nerevarines there is a fable of a Cavern of the Incarnates, where the spirits of the Failed Incarnates dwell. The Nerevarine cult is a mystical cult, and it glorifies, rather than shrinks from, contradictions.’_

 

            A Cavern of Incarnates? If it was real, maybe it was where Peakstar had gone, and why she had disappeared. Of course, Adanji thought, that was rubbish. Or at least highly unlikely. She was getting far too involved in all this. Between work and her nightmares, she must be losing her mind. “These are very detailed notes,” Adanji said, “I’m not sure what else to ask you.”

            He seemed to appreciate that, “Yes. I do like to be thorough...”

            “Who’s up here?” a voice growled, making Adanji jump. A tawny-furred Khajiit in an ankle-length nightgown had slunk up behind them, a candlestick raised defensively over his head. He lowered it sheepishly when he saw Huleeya. “Ah—Huleeya, my friend.” The purr in his voice suggested more than mere friendship, “It is good to see you. Who is your guest?” The Khajiit eyed Adanji suspiciously.

            “This is…” Huleeya fumbled, gesturing in Adanji’s direction.

            “Adanji.” She smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

            The Khajiit frowned, crossing his arms, his ears tilting back.

            “She is a friend,” Huleeya said, “Here for information.”

            “Ah. Any friend of Huleeya’s is a friend of Jobasha. But the hour is late and my shop is closed. Unless you have an urgent need of something, Jobasha would humbly ask that you come back tomorrow.”

            “Actually, come to think of it,” Adanji said, noting the walls lined with shelves stacked high with books both common and rare, “I need a copy of a book. One that Ordinators might not be so happy to see lying around in a shop, if you know what I mean?”

            Jobasha’s ears perked. “This one does have a, ah, private collection locked away in the back of his store. Precisely which book were you looking for?”

            “ _Progress of Truth._ ”

            “Ah, the Ordinators would indeed be very displeased if Jobasha had such a book in the open.” He smiled wryly, “It is very good you come after hours, then, when no Ordinators are stationed in my shop. Wait here.”

            He disappeared down the stairs and Adanji heard the shuffling of papers and books, the metallic sound of a key turning in several locks, and the creaking of rusty hinges as what must have been a hefty lid was lifted. More books were shuffled, followed by wood slamming on wood, the clicking of locks, paws padding up the stairs. Jobasha peered into the room, glancing about conspiratorially before approaching Adanji and handing her a worn, heavy leather tome. Chipped gold-leaf highlighted the inscribed words _‘Progress of Truth’_ on the battered spine.

            “Two hundred drakes,” he said flatly.

            “You can’t go down at all? How about—”

            “No. Jobasha does not haggle over rare items. Take the book at its current price, or leave it.”

            “Ok,” Adanji said grudgingly. She supposed, given the book’s reputation and its rarity, it could have been much worse. She counted out the coin and handed it to him, her purse feeling a great deal lighter.

            “Good. It is a pleasure doing business with you. Better to have that book out of my home, at least.” He smiled weakly as she slid it into her bag, running his claws through his mane. “You be careful not to let anyone catch you with it. I would rather not imagine what would happen to someone caught with that in their possession.”

            “I will,” she promised. She had everything she needed. Now all she had to do was get some rest and she could depart for Balmora in the morning.

 


	9. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adanji gathers one final snippet of information and finally learns the truth behind why she was sent to Vvardenfell, but can only guess at what role she might ultimately play.

**Chapter Eight**

Revelations

 

            “Owww...” Arathor whined as Adanji cleaned blood off his face. Adanji had returned to the Black Shalk late at night, relieved things had calmed down, only to remember the elf in her bed. Raril had thankfully had another room to spare, and Adanji had decided to visit Arathor in the morning. He had immediately started complaining about her having left him after his daring rescue attempt.

            “I hope you realize this was your fault?” Adanji said.

            He winced. “I was just trying to help… I suppose I’m not a very good protector, am I?”

            “No,” Adanji said. She relaxed a little at his expression, feeling a twinge of guilt. Just because she hadn’t wanted his help didn’t mean she had to be rude. “I’m only teasing. You caused an excellent distraction. Nobody noticed us slipping out the back, so thanks.”

            “Oh! Good. Glad I could be of help, then.” He grinned. “I haven’t been beaten so bloody since I left Valenwood…” he muttered to himself.

            “Valenwood? Was that the Argonian prostitute incident?”

            “Argonian…?” he said, bemused, “Oh. That…”

            “No Argonian prostitutes, then?” Adanji said. Surely he would have remembered something like that. “Tell me, is your past really so...?” She fumbled for the word.

“Colorful? Awkward? Unusual?”

“Yes.”

He crossed his arms. “I just don’t like to talk about it and Habasi knows it. So any time someone asks me about it, we make something up. Usually something perverse. That gets most people to back down.”

            “Huh. I can understand that,” she said with a frown, “Seems like most of us have had it pretty rough.”

            “Wha—No! No, it’s not that,” he said quickly, “My childhood was perfectly _happy._ I didn’t lose anyone close, I was no slave, no beggar. I had a wealthy father, even.” He drew himself up, putting on an air of pride, “A noble; though none of the other races, it seems, can picture a Bosmer as a noble. Too busy picturing us as thieves or barbarians.

            “My father worked at a bank, you see. Running numbers. Very dull. I was expected to do the same. Only, I didn’t want to sit behind some desk, getting fat, handling _other_ people’s money. I wanted adventure. Wanted to be a traveling minstrel, but let’s face it; I don’t have the voice for that, though I like to think I have the humor.” He waggled his brows playfully. Adanji didn’t comment. “As soon as I was old enough, I ran away and never looked back. I’m sure I am such a disappointment to my dear beloved father. More so since I became a thief. That bit about never looking back was an overstatement, I guess. I send him letters now and then, and I suspect he destroys each and every one without bothering to read them.”

            “I’m sorry,” Adanji said. A decent family was difficult enough to come by, and so easy to lose. She couldn’t imagine losing them to something beyond death, neither side willing to speak with the other.

            “No, no, don’t be. I’m not. I hardly miss the lout—he had all but disowned me even before I left, when he caught me eating a papaya. Quite the scandal, you know, what with the Green Pact. But fruit is just so sweet, and juicy, and meat’s great and all but it gets old, fast and—” He cleared his throat, noticing Adanji’s bemused expression. “Aaanyway, I don’t like talking about it because most of the people here _do_ have sob stories. Most thieves, and the ones in the guild are no exception, become thieves out of desperation. Then they get a taste for the life and don’t know anything else. I _had_ money, and a warm house to live in, had an education and even a cushy job to look forward to, and threw it away because I was _bored._ It’s not something I would want most people to know.”

            “I guess I understand that.” She could see how such knowledge might make the others resent him. “Why tell me?”

            “Because we’re friends, of course,” he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “I don’t expect you to judge me. And if you do I can just laugh at you and tell you how adorable you are when you’re upset.”

            Adanji rolled her eyes. “I might have judged you, before,” she reasoned, “But we all have our secrets.” _Some of us have too many._ Then another thought struck her. Of course, she should have noticed it sooner. “So… what beating were you referring to, earlier? You failed to mention that in your story.” She wondered if he had just made the whole thing up. Of course, she had been lying to him; she didn’t appreciate being on the receiving end of deceit, but she had no room to judge.

            “Now that’s a secret that’ll have to wait ‘til later.” He smirked.

            She glared, but didn’t press the matter. “Fine.”

            “See? I knew you’d be adorable when you’re angry. Like a widdle kitty-kitty. Wait! Where are you going?” he said as Adanji turned to leave.

            “I have to get back to Balmora. I’ve paid for you to stay here another night, in case you need time to recover. I had to pay triple since you started that bar fight, so don’t let it go to waste,” she said irritably before handing him a potion, “Here. Take this. It should help the pain.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but only resorted to pouting ineffectually.

 

***

            Adanji read _Progress of Truth_ on the silt strider home, curious as to its contents. Most of it reinforced what Mehra Milo had said. It detailed Temple doctrine challenged by the Dissidents. It suggested the Tribunal had stolen their divinity from Red Mountain, using Kagrenac’s ‘unholy’ tools. It referenced two writings about the Tribunal, specifically two conflicting accounts of the Battle at Red Mountain and the suspicion that the Temple was consciously concealing the true nature of the threat posed by Dagoth Ur.

            The book went on to suggest that Temple persecution of the Nerevarine was politically motivated, how many Dissidents had studied the Nerevarine Prophecies and believed them to be genuine. The Dissidents rejected the authority of the Archcanon and the Ordinators, believing the Temple to be corrupted by self-interest and politics, and the Ordinators to be needlessly cruel; either out of control, or tools used to maintain a corrupt priesthood in power. All in all, the book was an interesting read, tickling Adanji’s appreciation for good a conspiracy theory. It was almost as enjoyable as _Withershins_.

            She hastily put the book away when they stopped, having reached their destination.

 

            “You’re back sooner than I expected,” Caius said as she entered his house.

            “Why so surprised?” she said playfully, noting Caius’ pleasant mood.

            “I did give you a week,” he said. “What do you have for me?”

            “Required reading.” Adanji handed him her notes, Huleeya’s notes, and _Progress of Truth,_ recounting everything that had not been written down _._ “Mehra says she’s worried, by the way. She said if something goes wrong, she would leave you a message using the word ‘Amaya’.”

            Caius nodded absently as he went through the notes, “Good, good. I’ll take that under advisement. I don’t see anything here from Addhiranirr...”

            “Ah! Yes,” she said, “Addhiranirr didn’t have much information. She just said the Sixth House is involved in smuggling, but she doesn’t know what they smuggle, only that she thinks it’s dangerous.”

            “Hmm...”

            “What?”

            “There have been more murders, lately. More disappearances. We’ve noticed that every single victim has been an outlander, and everyone who’s been going crazy has been a local. Every single ‘sleeper’ we’ve heard of has been a Dunmer.”

            “That makes sense if they’re connected to the Sixth House,” she mused, “But what does this have to do with smuggling?”

            “The most recent murder was in Ald'Ruhn. Some Redoran lost his mind and when they raided his house, they found a shrine built around a strange red statue. It was full of ash. When the statue was broken, the Redoran came to, and when questioned about it, he claimed he had no idea where the statue came from. We’re not sure what the significance is, but it seems these statues may be linked to the Sleepers, and if they’re getting into people’s homes without their knowledge, it could be that they’re being smuggled in.”

            “Caius,” she said suddenly, remembering the encounter in Vivec and what Arathor had said about it. “Have you ever encountered a Sleeper?”

            “Well, I don’t get out of my house much, do I?” he said with the faintest hint of humor, “So I can’t say that I have. All I know about them is that they walk about in a daze, mutter about Dagoth Ur and his House, go on the occasional killing spree…” He shrugged, “According to my sources, they’re getting pretty prevalent.”

            “Have you ever…” She trailed off, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer, “Have your sources ever heard of sleepers addressing someone by name?”

            “No. I shouldn’t think they’d be lucid enough to even know who they’re talking to,” he said with a guarded expression, “Why?”

            “I-I’ve encountered one. Actually, more than one. I had never seen either of them before in my life but both of them knew my name.”   

            He stared. He seemed to be working exceptionally hard to control himself, but he looked concerned. Or livid. It was difficult to tell. “I don’t know what to say to that, but it’s new on me. I’d suggest you just avoid these sleepers in the future. They’re dangerous.”

            Adanji didn’t need him telling her that—she’d already seen it. The first one had tried to drown her and she had no idea what the second might have done had Arathor not intervened. Caius’ response only made her more nervous which, in truth, was the last thing she needed.

            “You’ve done good work, Adanji,” he said, deliberately changing the subject, “Here’s some gold for your efforts. I’ll need time to go over these notes, so come back in a few days. I’ll have more work for you then.”

            Adanji nodded absently.

            “Oh, wait. Before you leave, I believe I promised you information? Here.” He handed her a slip of paper, “That’s the address of your ‘master of security.’ His name’s Hecerinde. He’s a bit off, so be careful.”

Adanji had almost forgotten about that, what with everything else on her mind. “Thanks.” She chose not to point out how Caius was in no position to call someone ‘off’ and peeked at the address. It appeared Hecerinde lived in Labor Town North, near the Odai.

 

***

            It was dark and cold out as Adanji made her way to the Altmer’s house. It was late, but she wanted to get the elf’s cooperation before returning to Habasi if at all possible, if only to show the Khajiit that she could be trusted. She hoped he would be awake. Taking a deep breath, she approached his door and knocked. No sooner did her fist leave the door than it had opened, revealing the face of a rather short, bedraggled elf with oily black hair.

“Hecerinde?” she said, wondering if Caius had given her the wrong address. She had been given the impression that all Altmer were tall, with flawless golden skin, and that dirt was supposed to run away from them, screaming.

           His eyes narrowed, “That’s me, fur-licker. What do you want?”

           She stubbornly shoved aside her desire to correct him. She was too tired to start an argument with an obvious bigot, and if he really was the master of security the guild needed, she didn’t wish to antagonize him. “I have a business proposition—”

           “You don’t smell of skooma, so I don’t see what sort of business you’re after. Either way I am certain I am not interested.” He sniffed, his hand falling to the door, as if ready to slam it in Adanji’s face.

           “Wait!” He glared, but dropped his hand, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame of the door. “You’re a master of security, aren’t you?”

           He was silent, his expression hiding a number of dark threats, before stepping aside. “Come in,” he said finally, his voice silky. Adanji wasn’t sure if she should take the invitation given her bad feeling about the man, but, as it seemed he wouldn’t talk until she did, she entered, trying to hide her disquiet. She kept her hand close to her blade, just in case. The house was cramped and just as filthy as its owner. She had to wonder how the elf could justify being such a snob when his living conditions were so poor. “You must have friends in very dark, sneaky places if you know of my profession.” His voice penetrated her thoughts as he closed the door behind her.

           “Yes, you could say that,” she said.

           “Then who’s asking after me?”

           She wasn’t sure she should tell him. Everything about him rubbed her fur the wrong way.

           “Come now, Khajiit got your tongue?” He chuckled. “Who is in need of my services? I assure you, if the pay is right, you have nothing to worry about. I only explode my employers’ enemies… and people who waste my time.”

           Adanji shivered, “The Thieves Guild.”

           The corners of his lips twitched. “The Guild? Truly? Yes, it has been some time, I admit I have been neglecting my duties...”

           “Wait, your _duties_? You’re—”

           “Thieves Guild, yes.” He smirked at her expression. If Hecerinde was genuinely with the Guild, she wondered, how did Habasi not know about him? “I understand your surprise. I’ve not done any work for the guild since Jim was an operative. Even then, I kept to myself—never thought I would hear from them again. Speaking of which,” His eyes flashed dangerously, “If you tell anyone my name or where I live, it will end very badly for you, are we clear?”

           “I won’t tell a soul,” Adanji squeaked.

           “Excellent! I’ll see you in South Wall—that is where they keep themselves these days, is it not?” She nodded. “Now, leave.”

           Adanji was more than happy to get out of his house, relief sweeping over her when it was far behind her. South Wall was a welcome sight, and as soon as the bouncer let her in, Adanji made her way to Habasi’s office.

            “I found your Altmer,” she said, “I think he’ll be here soon.”

            Habasi looked up from her papers, “Truly?” She smiled, “This is a wonderful thing. You have served your guild well.”

            “I’m not sure how trustworthy he is, though. Frankly, he’s terrifying.”

            Habasi’s smile faltered, “Yes, Habasi had heard he was a bit… rough.”

            “He also mentioned that he’s a part of the guild,” Adanji pressed, “You didn’t know that?”

            Habasi sighed, “Honestly, this one knew he had had a past with us. She even knew where he was.” She put up a hand just as Adanji was about to protest, “Habasi is sorry for the deception. She only wished to know if her friend or Caius could be trusted. It seems Caius could at least make a useful ally, if he told Adanji where to find Hecerinde.”

            “Is that why you sent Arathor to watch me? To see if I could be trusted?” Hurt and anger flared in her, making it hard to keep her voice level. She hadn’t realized until then just how upsetting it was that Habasi, whom she considered a friend as much as an authority figure, did not trust her.

            Habasi flinched, “Yes. Forgive Habasi. You must understand that the guild is in a dangerous place. I… had to be sure you were not selling information to the Camonna Tong.”

            Adanji glared, “I’m not. I promise, Habasi, what I’m doing with Caius has nothing to do with the guild! You have to believe me.”

            Habasi met her gaze evenly, “I suppose that shall be decided when Arathor returns with his report.” She dug around in her desk drawer, opened a coin purse, and poured out gold into her hand. “In the meantime, you have done well in finding Hecerinde. Here is your reward.”

            “Keep it,” Adanji snapped, before adding softly, “At least until you decide you trust me.” Habasi stared blankly ahead, her eyes clouded with an unreadable emotion, as Adanji left her to her devices.

 

***

            The following days were strained for the whole guild. Habasi had not spoken with Adanji since she’d reported in, and Adanji had been forced to continue her training with someone else. Arathor, upon returning to Balmora, kept avoiding Adanji’s eyes. She wondered what he must think about her excursion to Vivec, but he never mentioned it. She supposed he must have known she’d found him out. She noticed, with some surprise, that when he did meet her gaze, his expression was apologetic. She wasn’t sure she was ready to forgive him for his part in Habasi’s deception.

Hecerinde, the source of everyone else’s discomfort, had come and was keeping his face concealed with a hood and scarf, and spoke little, unless it regarded his work. He had replaced all the traps set by the guild with runes that, as he described it, would quite messily explode any who were not welcome. He had said this with a rather sadistic, almost gleeful smirk. He had also taken the time to collect blood samples from every member of the guild into little vials. “For your own protection,” he had said, muttering something about his runes. The whole thing made Adanji more than a little uneasy.

            Phane, if possible, seemed to trust Hecerinde even less than he trusted Adanji. “I’m glad he doesn’t sleep here,” he told Adanji in an uncharacteristically amiable gesture one evening during supper. “I don’t like him in the same room with me while I’m awake. Who knows what he would do to us in our sleep?” He shuddered.

            “Tell me about it.”

            Adanji looked up, tensing, as Arathor took a seat beside her. “Can I help you?” she said coolly. Phane, sensing trouble, moved away, busily scrubbing the far side of the bar and complaining, as usual, about the crude graffiti. She frowned; there had been no new ‘anatomical studies’ since Chirranirr had died.

            “So!” Arathor flashed her an awkward smile and shoved coins across the counter toward her, “Habasi told me to give this to you.”

            “Oh, has she decided to trust me, then?”

            Arathor winced, “Well...”

            Adanji shoved the coins right back at him. “Keep them.”

            He stared at her a moment. “I’m sorry.”

            “For what?”

            “I really do consider you a friend,” he blurted, “You know that, right?”

            Adanji stared, eyes narrowing. Habasi had said something eerily similar not a week ago, and that had proven false. “Is that why you spied on me?”

            “Habasi told me to.” When Adanji didn’t say anything, he continued, “She may be my friend, but she’s also our boss. We have to do what she says… Look, I don’t know what she has against you—I mean, I thought you showed promise, chasing down a lead like that, however, er, strange it was. But you have to understand what Habasi’s going through right now. The Guild’s in danger because we were betrayed—by her closest friend, no less. That cost us a lot… that cost me Chirranirr!” His voice cracked.

            Adanji sighed, trying to ignore the guilt that settled in her belly. She remembered Habasi’s drunken ramblings and almost felt ashamed for piling so much blame on her. Arathor had a point, and if he really didn’t know why Habasi didn’t trust her, then the Mastermind had at least kept her promise and hadn’t mentioned Adanji’s affiliation with the Blades to him. In fact, now that Adanji thought about it, nobody else in the guild, except for Phane, seemed to distrust her. That made her feel a little better.

            “Habasi’ll come around, I’m sure,” he continued, “It just might take her a while.”

            In spite of herself, this made Adanji smile. “So what do I do until then?”

            “Don’t piss her off?” he said simply, then he grinned, “Seriously, though, just lie low and do everything she tells you, and you’ll be fine. Come on, I think you could use a drink.”

            “With you?” she said, ears perking up, “Always.”

 

            A solid week had passed since her last chat with Caius, and Sun’s Dusk had come in full force, bringing a bitter cold with it. Adanji figured she should report in soon, but wasn’t sure how Habasi would take it. Taking a deep breath, she approached the Mastermind’s quarters and knocked timidly on the false wall.

            “Come,” Habasi said hoarsely.

            “Hey...” Adanji cleared her throat, feeling awkward under Habasi’s stare as she closed the wall behind her.

            “Yes?” Habasi snapped, before sneezing. She cursed under her breath and dabbed at her dripping nose. Now that Adanji got a good look at her, she noticed Habasi’s eyes were puffy and streaming, and a yellow-green crust had formed around her nostrils.

            “Are you ok?”

            “It is just a mild case of white cough.” She sniffed, drawing a blanket around her shoulders.

            “Oh.” Briefly, seeing how frail Habasi looked, Adanji forgot her misgivings about the Mastermind. “Have you taken anything for it?”

            “The Mages Guild is out of potions and has Habasi on a waiting list the size of Masser. It is the same with the Temple; backed up because everyone is sick. I hate winter.” She scowled. “Now please, tell me what you want or leave.”

            “I’m sorry to bother you. I just… I need to report to Caius.”

            Habasi blinked. “And?”

            “I just wanted you to know. I wanted to make sure...”

            “Spit it out.”

            “I wanted to make sure you’re okay with it.”

            Habasi’s expression softened a bit. “You are worried I do not trust you.”

            “You did admit to it,” Adanji pointed out.

            “Yes.” Habasi sneezed again, “Well. Arathor told Habasi you were looking into local superstitions. It seems harmless enough.” She laughed softly, “And I would think that ignoring your duties to the Blades could be life-threatening, yes? They seem to enjoy harsh punishment. Go, then. Do what you must.”

            “So you trust me?” Adanji dared to ask, her tone cautiously optimistic.

            Habasi sighed heavily, “I do not know. Things are so uncertain lately. Give Habasi some time.” She smiled thinly, then motioned for Adanji to go. The conversation was over.

 

***

            “I think we’re close,” Caius said, shuffling some papers. “I need you to go speak with one more informant. With luck, this one will have everything we need and the real work can begin.”

            “Bringing you information wasn’t ‘real’ work?” Adanji asked, slight indignation sparking at his dismissal of her contributions, two of which had been rather harrowing for her.

            “Well… it _was_ important,” Caius said.

            “And often dangerous?” she prompted.

            He glanced up from his papers, “I hope you aren’t giving up on me, now?” There was both amusement and a dangerous edge to his voice.

            “No, Caius,” Adanji said apologetically, “What do you need?”

            “There is an Ashlander in Ald’ruhn by the name of Hassour Zainsubani.” It amazed Adanji how Caius could rattle off such complex names without stuttering. “Rumor has it he left the wastes to become a wealthy trader,” Caius said, “They say the Ashlanders like to give and receive presents. Take these 100 drakes. Find out what Zainsubani likes, and get him a gift. Then see if he’ll tell you about the Ashlanders and the Nerevarine cult and report back to me.”

            “Wait… so you don’t even know if he’ll tell me anything?”

            “I haven’t had time to formally set up an appointment with him, no, but I’m sure, if you’re polite, he’ll speak with you.”

            “Well that’s just… brilliant.” She cleared her throat, “Do you have any idea what gift I should get him, or where in Ald’ruhn I’ll find him?”

            “I’m not sure where he is, exactly, but he should be set up in an inn. Try the Ald Skar Inn, first. It’s more respectable than the Rat In The Pot or the Council Club,” he reasoned, “As for the gift, I suggest you ask him what his interests are, then give him something that suits him.”

            Adanji nodded. “Yes sir. I’ll be off, then.”

***

            Adanji landed heavily on the platform in the Ald’ruhn Mages Guild. She was dizzy and had to steady herself, but this time there was little nausea from the teleportation. She acknowledged the Altmer mage with a smile before continuing on with her business. With the shortening days of winter, the sky was already dark. In the distance, Adanji could clearly see the bright blue glow of the Ghost Fence, swirling endlessly with magical energy—the ever vigilant souls of Dunmeri ancestors. It was frightening to think that if the Tirbunal continued to weaken, that magic would fade and the countless monsters inside would break free, ravaging the land.

             _No time to worry about that,_  Adanji thought, knowing there was nothing she could do about it. Straightening herself, she continued on to the Rat in the Pot. She could attend to her business in the morning.

            “You—Khajiit. Brought Habasi’s note, yes?”

            Adanji turned her attention to Aengoth, who had seen her come in and immediately marched up to her. “Yes, that was me.”

            “Good. Camonna Tong attacked.” He beamed, which did peculiar things to his patchy beard, “Guild was prepared. Lost no one. Wished to thank you. Personally.”

            “Oh! Thanks,” Adanji said, happy for some good news for a change.

            “Please! Take this.” He handed her three round, glittering jewels. Adanji stared. She could get an excellent price for these from Phane.

            “Well… if you insist,” she said, gratefully taking the jewels from him.

            “Give two to Habasi. Warning her idea, after all,” he said. Adanji’s face fell a little, but she agreed and continued on to the publican, slipping the jewels into her satchel on the way.

   

            Adanji was awoken in the morning by a clicking sound. Sitting up, she saw the source of the noise; a foot-tall, spider-like Dwemer construct, occasionally spouting puffs of steam. It regarded her for a moment with its single ruby eye then, after some deliberation, it lunged at her. Adanji shouted, her tail puffing up, and bolted from her room, screaming as the spider gave chase, its bronze legs making a click-click-click sound on the stone floor.  

            “Whoa!” A bolt of lightning crackled through the air, striking the spinning gyros around the spider’s eye. It skittered about for a few seconds before rolling onto its back, legs twitching madly. “Sorry about that!” the Altmer who had cast the spell said, rushing to examine the spider.

            “What _is_ that thing?!” Adanji hissed, not entirely pleased with the rude awakening.

            “Oh, you mean Sparky? He’s a Spider Centurion. Dwemer make.” _She named it?_ The Altmer smiled fondly at the thing, even as it made a sad grinding noise. “We got him to protect the guild, but, as you can see, I still have a few kinks to work out. The others work just fine.”

            “I see,” Adanji said slowly, letting her fur lie flat. If the Camonna Tong had had to contend with such creatures during their assault, it was no wonder they had lost. She almost felt sorry for them.

            “I really am truly sorry.”

            “It’s fine,” Adanji said stiffly. She didn’t think she’d be staying at the Rat in the Pot again anytime soon. Spiders really weren’t her thing. Foot-tall, metal spiders were the stuff of nightmares.

            It was overcast when Adanji got outside. Thick clouds covered every inch of sky as far as the eye could see—it looked almost like it would snow. She hoped it would. She remembered all the mischief she and Swims would get up to in the snow; it had always made it feel like those nights of freezing cold and near-starvation were worth it. She shoved her hands into her pockets to warm them as she made her way to the Ald-Skar Inn.

            It was nestled in a cluster of shops and homes which were almost lost in the shadow of a building that looked remarkably like the corpse of a giant crab. In fact, according to what she had read about the city in  _A Short History of Morrowind_ , that's exactly what it was; long ago it had been a terror of a beast that had, in a drawn out, glorious battle, been slain by mighty warriors. They had made use of the shell, utilizing its chambers as homes and manors. Adanji wanted to go inside— to see the wonders of such a place with her own eyes— but she had a job to do. Sighing, she continued on to the inn.  

            “Good day, Outlander, can I help you?” The Dunmer publican greeted Adanji as she entered. She was striving to be polite to a potential customer, Adanji realized, as the woman’s smile looked strained and didn’t reach her eyes.

            “Er… yes. Do you know if there’s a Hassour Zainsubani here?”

“The Ashlander? Yes, he is downstairs, at the bar.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

The Dunmer scowled, “I don’t know how you Outlanders do things, but I don’t make a habit of spying on my patrons.”

Adanji sighed and rummaged around in her satchel, withdrawing fifteen golden Septims and dropping them on the counter. “Please, I just want to know his interests so I can buy him a gift. If there is anything you can tell me, I would appreciate it.” She put on a smile that was just as painful as the publican’s.

            “Fine,” she snapped, sweeping the coins into her pocket. “All I know is that he is quite wealthy, and seems educated, which is odd for the Ashlanders. He has a lot of books in his room.”

            “Anything specific?”

            She narrowed her eyes, “As I said, I respect my customers’ privacy. I didn’t pay attention to the covers.”

            “Thanks anyway,” Adanji said dejectedly. It seemed her contribution had gone to waste. She continued downstairs and found Hassour exactly where the publican had said he would be. He was sitting on a posh bar stool, brandy in hand, with his nose buried in a thick book. She approached him cautiously. He may have left his tribe behind, but he still had firm muscles rippling beneath his skin, and Adanji had heard a lot about the ferocity of the Ashlanders. “Excuse me, Hassour?” She kept her voice down, not wanting to attract the attention of the barkeep, who was busily washing a glass tankard in the far corner.

            The Dunmer turned his gaze on her. His demeanor was calm, but his lips turned down slightly at the corners. He lowered his book. “That is me.” His voice was deep and his words slow, but not unintelligent. “May you bless and be blessed. I do not wish to be rude, but if you have business, speak it, for I am at leisure, and would prefer to be alone with my thoughts.”

            “I would like to get you a gift,” she said awkwardly, the words tumbling clumsily from her lips. She took a deep breath to calm herself, “But I’m not sure about your customs. I don’t know what would be suitable.”

            “A curious question for an Outlander.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully, “But a shrewd one. I must ask why a stranger is interested?”

            “I’d like to talk to you. I want to know about your people—the Ashlanders—and about the Nerevarine Cult. If you’re willing to tell me,” she added hastily.

He raised his brows, his curiosity clearly piqued. “How unexpected that a foreigner would take such an interest in our ways.” He allowed himself a diminutive smile. “A gift is a sign of courtesy among strangers, and affection among friends. A thoughtful gift from a stranger is a sign that you are cautious, but considerate, and aware of the other’s wants and needs. Particularly useful for traders and travelers. Among friends it is a private thing, with great risks; the test of the gift is knowing how well it is tailored to the receiver.”

            “I see,” Adanji said, “I don’t want to offend you. Is there something specific you would like? I see you enjoy books, but...”

            After a long moment he smiled, laughter in his ruby eyes. “I understand. Let us take your earnest thought and effort as a token of your gift. You have behaved courteously, and I am inclined to help you. What would you wish to know about the Ashlanders and the Nerevarine cult?”

            “I… ” Adanji faltered. Caius never seemed to tell her exactly what to ask. Normally the informants already had an idea of what was relevant and knew what sort of information to give. For all she knew, Caius wanted to send someone to speak to the Ashlanders, but didn’t want them to become a pincushion for Ashlander spears. “I would like to know how one might approach the Ashlander tribes. How a guest should behave. Anything relevant you could give me would be greatly appreciated. As for the Nerevarine Cult, the only thing I know about them is what the settled Dunmer tell me. I would like to know the Ashlanders’ unique perspective on them.”

            He considered this thoughtfully, then gestured to the bar. “Have a seat. You may buy me a drink. The information you want must not be overheard by anyone, and there is much to tell. Here, I shall write it down.”

            A half hour passed in silence as Hassour wrote, occasionally stopping to drink the Flin Adanji had bought him. When he was done, he handed Adanji the notes, which she read over carefully.

   

_‘The Ashlanders are the direct descendants of the Aldmeri peoples who followed the Prophet Veloth into the lands we now call Morrowind. The Ashlanders retain the modest nomadic life and simple ancestor worship of their forebears, and despise the soft lives and decadent worships of the settled Great House Dunmer cultures. The Wastes are harsh and unforgiving, and we are a hard people. But there is a beauty and honor in our simple lives, and the snobs of the Temple and Great Houses are fools to dismiss us as crude savages._

_Ashlanders and foreigners_

_Most Ashlanders wish all foreigners and their false gods could be driven from Morrowind. At very least, Ashlanders wish the foreign devils would leave them in peace. Ashlanders think it shameful to attack unarmed persons, but they will kill without hesitation an armed person who offends them or their clan laws. No Ashlander is fool enough to make war against the Empire. However, if such a war might be won, many Ashlanders might cheerfully give their lives to win such a war._

_Ashlander courtesy_

_Ashlanders may challenge a stranger who enters a yurt without invitation. Customs differ with different tribes, but leave when requested, and you may be forgiven. Be particularly careful about ashkhans—tribal chiefs—and wise women—tribal seers and counselors. Some are welcoming, some are hostile. Be courteous, and leave if requested. If offended, they may attack._

_Ashlander challenges_

_When challenged for sport, it is acceptable to decline. When challenged for honor, it is shameful to decline. Honor challenges come from offense given in speech or action, or may represent customary formal challenges of status or ritual._

_Ashlander worship_

_All Ashlanders in a tribe, young and small, are born into the Ancestor cult of their clan. The Nerevarine cult is different, though; it is a very small cult, with only a few wise women with the gift of prophecy, and a few holy warrior-heroes who guard and protect the seers. Sul-Matuul, Ashkhan of the Urshilaku, is the Warrior-Protector of the cult, and Nibani Maesa, also of the Urshilaku, is the Oracle-Seer of the cult._

_Nerevarine cult_

_They worship the Great Ashkhan and Hortator, Nerevar Moon-and-Star, who in ages past destroyed the evil, godless dwarves and banished the treacherous Dagoth Ur and his foul hosts beneath Red Mountain. The cult is of small consequence in Ashlander worship, and only among the Urshilaku do its followers have any influence. Others Ashlanders tribes share the sentiments of the cult, but regard the Nerevarine prophecies with suspicion and skepticism._

_Nerevarine prophecies_

_It is said that prophecies foretell the return of a reincarnated Nerevar, who shall drive the foreigners from the Ashlands and who shall cast down the false gods of the Temple, and restore the true worships of the Ancestors. It is a dream that would appeal to every Ashlander, but many Ashlanders think it is a silly ancient legend, and little more._

_The Urshilaku Ashlanders_

_The Urshilaku are the Ashlanders of the northern Ashlands and the West Gash, in the northwest of Vvardenfell. Ashkhan Sul-Matuul is their chief, a brave and respected war leader, and Warrior-Protector of the Nerevarine cult. Nibani Maesa is their wise woman, a deep and shrewd counselor, and seer of the Nerevarine cult. The Urshilaku camp moves with the herds, but usually lies close to the Sea of Ghosts, north of the village of Maar Gan, on the northern coast of the northern Ashlands.’_

 

            “Thanks for the information, Hassour.” Adanji said when she had finished reading. “I think this is everything I needed.”

            “Good. I am glad I could be of assistance. If you wish to visit the Ashlanders, I would point you first to Urshilaku; they are perhaps the least likely to harm you, and would be most versed in the Nerevarine Prophecies. I have written where you may find them. Be careful; the Urshilaku are not the only inhabitants of the Ashlands. There may be Mabrigash about—evil witches who may kill on sight. They use dark, terrible magicks. And do not offend the Urshilaku. I do not wish for you to die.”

            “Thanks,” Adanji said again, adding his warning to the back of his notes.

            “Before you leave, I would ask you one small favor.”

            “What is it?” she said, not wanting to make any promises she might not be able to keep.

            “I wonder at my son, Hannat—he has been so long away, without a word to his father, surely he wishes me to die of worry, so he may inherit my fine brandy.” A wry smile creased the corners of his mouth in deep wrinkles, “He has proposed to chart the rarely visited ancient underground complex at Mamaea, west of Red Mountain; if you should chance to see him in your travels, chide him, and tell him an old man longs for news of his son-and-heir.”

            “I will,” Adanji promised. She wasn’t sure she would chance upon a single Dunmer out of thousands in the vast lands of Vvardenfell, but if she did, she figured, it would be little trouble to speak with him on his father’s behalf. She only hoped she could remember that small task, among the seemingly endless ones that already swirled before her.

 

***

            “There you are. Did you get what I needed?”

            Adanji handed Caius the notes, watching in silence as he read them over.

            “Good. This is very good.” He handed them back, “Here, you’ll want to keep these.”

            “Wha—oh. Great.” Adanji groaned inwardly. “You’re sending _me_ to speak with the Ashlanders, aren’t you?” She supposed this was what Caius had meant about the ‘real’ work.

            “Spot on,” he said, a faint hint of pride sparkling in his eyes, “I'm promoting you, and sending you to the Urshilaku camp to speak with Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa. But before you go, I think it may be time to tell you what's going on.”

            Adanji’s heart turned a somersault. _Finally,_ after all her weeks here, running messages for Caius, working jobs for the Thieves Guild, training until she could barely move, she was going to learn why she had been sent here! Scarcely containing her excitement which, briefly, overrode her fears of the Ashlanders, she said, “Well? I’m waiting, why am I here?”

            Caius took a deep breath. “The Emperor and his advisors think you have the appearance of meeting the conditions of the Nerevarine prophecies. That's why you were pulled out of prison on his Majesty's authority and sent to me; so you could satisfy the conditions of the Prophecies and become the Nerevarine.” As Caius spoke, Adanji’s face began to fall.  “Here. This is a decoded copy of the package you gave me when you arrived. Read it later. It should explain everything.” She numbly took the letter, staring blankly ahead as Caius continued to speak, breathing deeply so she wouldn’t hyperventilate, heart palpitating.

“As you'll see in the message, the Emperor and his counselors say you have the _'appearance'_ of satisfying the conditions of the prophecy. Do you _really_ satisfy the prophecy? Are you _really_ the Nerevarine? At first, I thought we were just supposed to create a persuasive impostor, but with the strange occurrences—the sleepers knowing you by name? Your dreams? Now I don't know what to think, but I am sure of one thing. This is not just primitive superstition, and we will treat it seriously, just as his Majesty commands.

“So. Zainsubani says Sul-Matuul and Nibani Maesa at Urshilaku camp are the heads of the Nerevarine cult.” He just kept talking, and Adanji was barely listening any more. She felt sick. None of it made any sense. She had thought for so long that having the answers would somehow make her feel better. Now all she wanted was to hide; to run away and never return. “So I'm sending you to speak with them. Tell them your story, and have them test you against the Nerevarine prophecies. As heads of the Nerevarine cult, they can best judge whether you satisfy the prophecies. When you've spoken with them, report back to me. Here's 200 drakes for expenses. And pick up essential supplies at Fort Moonmoth. I already had some friends there, Somutis Vunnis and Crulius Pontanian, set aside some potions and scrolls for you…”

“I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to,” Adanji spluttered, finally finding her voice. “Hello, my name’s Adanji. Remember? The weak, Khajiit thief? Short, scrawny, no honor?” She scrambled for every adjective she had been sure the Blades Master had associated with her, “Afraid of her own shadow? I highly doubt I’m some… some… Dunmer hero reborn! And wasn’t Nerevar a male? I know it confuses some people, but I’m a woman! I can’t—”

            Caius gripped her firmly by the shoulders and looked her in the eye, forcing her to calm down. “I know this must be difficult-”

            “You think?!”

“ _But_ ,” he continued, “Think of all the strange events you’ve witnessed; all your dreams. Most outlanders haven’t been plagued with nightmares like the local Dunmeri, but you have.” Adanji just stood there, shaking her head from side to side even as he continued, “Whatever you think of this, the fact remains that the Emperor himself sent you here for this very purpose. If you back out now, you will be sent to Cyrodiil for immediate execution.” His voice was calm, his expression sympathetic. It was clear he did not want that outcome.

She dropped her gaze, her hands trembling. A lump formed in her throat. Her head buzzed with a million thoughts and questions, grasping at any excuse she could find. “Why? Why would the Emperor want me to fulfill a prophecy that’s supposed to end in the Empire being driven out of Morrowind? Doesn’t that sort of… contradict the Emperor’s needs?” It made no sense, and Adanji did not wish to be made a martyr for a cause she didn’t even support.

Caius shrugged. “I don’t know.” Adanji glared, “I’m not lying to you; I genuinely don’t know why the Emperor wants this prophecy fulfilled. But the Emperor sees things normal men do not. He most certainly knows something we don’t. If he wants you to be the Nerevarine, and to succeed, then chances are it’s for the good of Tamriel.”

Adanji huffed. It still didn’t make any sense, and the Emperor was placing an impossible weight of responsibility on her shoulders, but she apparently had no choice but to go along with it, “Fine.”

“Good. Now go rest up and prepare. You have a long journey ahead of you.”


	10. The Land of Ash

**Chapter Nine**

The Land of Ash

 

            When Adanji returned to South Wall, she barely remembered to tell Habasi the good news; that the Rat in the Pot had successfully repelled an attack and had Dwemer artifacts at its disposal. She had given Habasi all of the jewels Aengoth had given her, hoping that maybe it would persuade the Mastermind to trust her; she could really do with the support of friends. Particularly, friends who knew her secret. Habasi had barely reacted, beyond the relief of knowing their sister branch of the Guild was safe. She had politely, if promptly, dismissed her.

            Adanji went to her bunk, fell in and, when she was sure she was alone, opened the letter Caius had given her, decoded in his hand.

 

‘Spymaster Caius Cosades 

Knight-Errant of the Imperial Order of the Blades

Director of Imperial Intelligence in Vvardenfell District, Eastern Provinces

I have the honor to acquaint you with his Majesty's wishes concerning Adanji, an individual of no rank or consequence.

Adanji has been released from prison by his Majesty's authority and sent to you with this missive. Adanji is to be entered as a Novice in the Imperial Order of the Blades, and is to serve under your absolute authority as you shall see fit, except insofar as his Majesty's particular wishes are concerned.

His Majesty's particular wishes are as follows.

A local superstition holds that an orphan and outcast, a youth born on a certain day to uncertain parents, shall unite all the tribes of the Dunmer, drive out the invaders of Morrowind, and shall reestablish the ancient laws and customs of the Dark Elven nations. This orphan and outcast is called in legend the "Nerevarine," and is supposed to be a reincarnation of the long-dead Dunmer General and First Councilor, Lord Indoril Nerevar.

Adanji has the appearance of meeting the conditions of this local superstition. Therefore it is his Majesty's desire that Adanji shall, insofar as is possible, satisfy the conditions of this ancient prophecy, and shall become the Nerevarine.

Though this prophecy is indeed only an ancient local superstition, his Majesty has taken counsel on this matter with his most expert informants and confidants, and his Majesty is persuaded that the prophecy is genuine and significant, either in its entirety, or in its several parts, and he earnestly demands you treat this matter with the utmost seriousness.

Certain aspects of this ancient superstition are described at the end of this document, and further materials will be forthcoming by courier at the earliest occasion. It will, of course, be necessary that you acquaint yourself better with the details of this ancient superstition from your local sources. Since this matter intimately concerns Adanji, it is expected that you will employ her to gather information on this subject. His Majesty has taken a great personal interest in the legends and prophecies of the Nerevarine, and eagerly awaits your reports.

I have the honor to be, Sir, your most Humble and Obedient Servant,

Glabrio Bellienus

Personal Secretary to the Emperor’

 

            She frowned. She had hoped reading the letter would give her more insight, or somehow help her come to terms with the situation. Instead, it just made everything feel too real. She stuffed the letter back into her satchel and laid down, squeezing her eyes shut and willing herself to sleep, desperately seeking some form of escape, however temporary. When that didn’t work, she stood, paced restlessly around the room for an hour, hoping it might wear her out, then fell in her bed and tried again.

            The night was restless. It wasn’t nightmares that kept Adanji up, this time—not at first. It was endless, troubling thoughts. If she was the Nerevarine, she might have to drive out her own guild, losing the friendship and support of all the people she had come to know and love. If she was the Nerevarine, she would be in constant danger from the Temple and settled Dunmer who would take offense to the heresy of an Outlander professing to be one of their most honored heroes. If she was the Nerevarine, then many countless, impossible tasks lay ahead of her, and she had no idea how she would cope with any of it.

            Swims would have teased her, if he were alive, and the situation were not so dire. _You?_ he would have said, _A reincarnated hero? The Nine sure do have a sense of humor! Or the Emperor does…_ Adanji wished he were here. His humor and optimism would have helped her cope. She wanted someone she could confide in. Sure, Habasi knew her secret, but without the trust they had once shared, she would be unlikely to offer emotional support. Adanji let out an exasperated hiss and rolled over, burying herself in the covers and screaming into her pillow.

Finally, as the sun rose over the horizon, casting Morrowind in a gentle pink glow, Adanji drifted to sleep.

   

            _A dark room materialized around Adanji. As she looked around, she recognized the unmistakable structure of Dwemer ruins. In the center of the room, a tall figure appeared. He wore no shirt, his gray skin rippling with muscle and countless, jagged scars. She looked up and instantly recognized the golden mask. The man spoke to her, but she did not understand a word. He beamed, and seemed pleasant, but when he reached to touch Adanji, it terrified her. She tried to escape, but her legs seemed rooted to the spot. She tried to cry out, but she couldn’t make a sound. The figure kept smiling and talking, but Adanji felt sure he was trying to cast some sort of spell on her._

 

            As Adanji awoke, heart beating rapidly in her chest, she couldn’t remember how the dream had ended. She crossed to the basin at the far side of the room, splashing water on her face. She had no idea what time it was, but she felt as if she had gotten no sleep. She sighed, rubbing the back of her stiff neck, and made her way up to Phane’s bar.

            “Ah! Glad you’re here.”

            Adanji stared, suspicion twisting in her gut. The world must be going mad if Phane was happy to see her. “Why?”

            “I just wanted you to know the good news; Hecerinde’s gone!” He practically danced in place, clapping his hands. It was an odd sight. Like a sort of mating ritual for weasels. Did weasels even _have_ mating rituals?

            “That’s… nice? Isn’t he supposed to protect the guild?”

            “He was, and he did his job nicely. I’m sure with his runes in place we’ll be just fine. Anyway, Habasi saw how he was affecting morale and told the bastard to leave until we called on him again.”

            “That’s nice,” Adanji repeated with a yawn.

            “Hmph. Well. I see some people can’t be bothered to celebrate, even when good news falls out of the sky right in front of them.”

            “I’m sorry, Phane, I’m just tired, and a bit hungry. Can I have some boiled kwama eggs, please? With porridge?” She was too tired, and had too much on her mind, to even put a mockingly sweet tone into the word ‘please,’ which usually offered the small satisfaction of irking the Breton.

            Phane sniffed disdainfully, back to his usual sunny disposition, and set about cooking Adanji breakfast. She ate in relative peace, watching the guild go about their business. Phane was right about one thing; everyone seemed a lot more at ease without the homicidal Altmer lurking about, assailing people with the intent of stealing blood samples or performing other bizarre experiments on them. She would have been happy for them, but at that moment she only envied their bliss. All she could think about was the meeting with the Ashlanders. If she was being honest, Hassour wasn’t so bad. But she doubted she could avoid offending an entire tribe of Ashlanders when the mere presence of an Outlander seemed an insult to most settled Dunmer. It felt as though she was being sent to her death.

 

***

Before heading out, Adanji checked her satchel, making sure she had everything she needed, and nothing she did not. After exchanging a few items between her chest and her satchel, she was left with a coin purse containing 200 Septims, a change of clothes, a few healing potions, a flask of water and Hassour’s notes. She strapped on her armor, hung the dagger and the shortsword Sharn had given her on her hips and made her way to the exit. Just as she was gripping the handle to leave, a sneeze announced Habasi’s presence.

“Where is Adanji heading out to, this time?”

Adanji sighed, letting her hand fall to her side. She saw no one else in the corridor with them; they were alone. “I’m going to the Ashlands. I have to speak with a tribe there.”

Habasi’s eyes widened, “Ashlanders? They hate outsiders, perhaps more than the settled Dunmeri. You could be killed.”

“Would that really even bother you?” Adanji said coolly, hardly in the mood for interruptions. It had been difficult enough to even convince herself to go; she didn’t need any help changing her mind.

Habasi cocked her head to the side, “This one is not sure if she can trust you. That does not mean she does not wish to trust you, or that she wishes you harm. You are valuable to the guild, and when Habasi hired you she saw great potential in you. It would be terrible if you were killed.”

Adanji stared, bewildered. She wasn’t even sure anymore what Habasi thought of her. When she spoke, her voice trembled. “I have to go.”

            “Wait here.” Habasi ran off, back down into the basement. Adanji almost considered leaving before Habasi could return, but curiosity held her in place. Moments later, Habasi returned, out of breath. “Here.” She held out a clear vial. A glittering silvery substance was inside.

            “What is it?”

            “It is an invisibility potion. Habasi uses them on high risk heists. With the guild taking fewer jobs in preparation for a Camonna Tong assault… Well, Habasi doesn’t need it.” She pressed it insistently into Adanji’s palm, then lifted her hand, briefly stroking her right ear before dropping it to her side again. “If the Ashlanders try anything, forget what Caius told you. Use the potion to escape and never look back.”

            Adanji swallowed at a lump that rose into her throat. Even if the Mastermind didn’t trust her, it was nice to know she still cared. She cleared her throat a few times, attempting to keep her emotions in check. “Thanks,” she finally managed to choke out.

            Habasi nodded. “Now. Go do whatever it is Caius asked of you, and return safely. This one is scheduling another meeting with Gentleman Jim. We may have a plan to weaken the Camonna Tong.” Back to business. Habasi returned to her quarters without another word. Apparently wounds were still too raw for open friendship.

 

            Remembering Caius’ instructions, Adanji dropped by Fort Moonmoth before setting off. She hoped that maybe by preparing herself as well as she could, she might feel a little less like she was walking to her death. She had gone over it a thousand times that morning at breakfast. If she refused to go to the Ashlands, execution was certain. If she went, it was only a rather large possibility, but it still offered a meager chance of survival. The main thing that concerned her now was how painful a death she might have at the hands of Ashlanders as opposed to the quick death promised by an executioner’s axe.

            At the Fort, Caius’ friends were expecting her. Somutis gave her four potions to cure various diseases, including the Blight, and a few potions to heal her wounds and give her strength. Crulius gave her scrolls of intervention. Both gave her scrib jerky and dried hound meat wrapped in parchment. With her bag practically bursting at the seams with useful items, Adanji felt ready as she ever would to go see the Ashlanders.

            She hired the silt strider at Balmora to take her to Ald’ruhn. She knew the Mages Guild transport was faster, but she wanted as much time to mentally prepare herself as possible. Along the way, Adanji read and reread the notes Hassour had given her, marking specific bits of advice for later. She made a single stop at a store to purchase a scarf, goggles, and a thick cloak, having heard how nasty the ash storms were in the Ashlands, and put them on. The goggles were an awkward fit, pinching the bridge of her nose and pushing her ears up at odd angles to her head, but they would protect her eyes. For the moment, she removed them. From the Ald’ruhn port, she took the next silt strider to Maar Gan, a town just northwest of Red Mountain and one of the closest settlements to the Urshilaku camp.

            It was dark, well after midnight, when she arrived. In total, the trip from Balmora had taken three days. She was exhausted and sore from being cramped in a strider’s compartment for so long, and almost looked forward to the long walk she would face tomorrow, if only to stretch her legs. She purchased a bed at the Andus Tradehouse, the town’s only store and inn, and almost immediately fell asleep, her weariness outweighing her fears. She did not dream, which was a welcome change. She woke up bright and early, ate a breakfast of scrib jelly on bread and caught the attention of the publican.

            “Yes, can I help you?”

            “I would like directions to the Sea of Ghosts.”

            The Dunmer’s eyes clouded with confusion, “The… the Sea of Ghosts? Are you quite sure?”

            Adanji nodded firmly. “Yes.” When the Dunmer’s expression remained unchanged, Adanji added, “I want to go fishing. I heard there’s plenty of… slaughterfish there.”

            “… Fishing.” She shook her head, muttered something about ‘ignorant outlanders, wasting my time,’ and said, “Head south out of town. Take the path east, until you reach the foyada. Turn left and follow the foyada all the way north until you reach the water. It’s quite dangerous there.” She looked Adanji up and down, clearly thinking the Khajiit couldn’t handle herself. Adanji wasn’t inclined to argue; in fact, in this particular instance, she quite agreed. Just before she left, she remembered the Ashlander customs of gift-giving and purchased some jewelry, hoping that might appease them. She only had 60 drakes left in her satchel, which she would add to the gifts.

 

***

 

            The sun was about to set, coloring the sky orange. Adanji had come to the shore of the Sea of Ghosts, and had begun following it to the East. The Ashlands, she had come to realize, were aptly named. As far as the eye could see the dry, cracked land was covered in ash. Even the sparse vegetation was gray or black and withered. Beyond that, it was all rock and the occasional pool of lava. She couldn’t help but wonder how anything—or anyone—could live there.

            Though she had yet to see any signs of life, she had passed by a vast, sinister-looking ruin to the south which had set her teeth on edge and she had given it a wide berth. Now her feet hurt and her stomach growled. She wasn’t sure how far the Urshilaku camp was, but she knew she needed rest. Seeing a large outcropping of rock, she took shelter there, setting down her pack and finally resting her weary legs. She longed to set a fire to chase away the cold that had settled deep in her bones, but remembered the warning; Mabrigash could be wandering the lands and she did not wish to draw the witches to her. She pulled her cloak tightly about her form, leaning against the rock and munching on a strip of dry, flavorless scrib jerky.

            She hoped she wasn’t far.

   

            Just as she was getting ready to sleep, she saw them; a group of Dunmeri in the distance, carrying spears and riding guar. They were hauling some dead animal behind them, indicating that they were returning from a successful hunt. Based on their garb—composed of hand-woven fabrics and heavy animal hide—they had to belong to a tribe. A shiver ran down her spine, dread settling in the pit of her stomach. The time had come to introduce herself and, despite all her preparations, she wasn’t sure she was—or ever would be—ready. Taking a deep, calming breath, she stood, picked up her pack, and started toward them. Before she could get too close, they had taken note of her presence; it seemed their eyes weren’t totally useless at night. They turned their guars and charged at her, spears raised.

            She felt her fur rise, her tail lashing, a queasy feeling making her legs go weak. The informant had said that Ashlanders did not kill unarmed opponents. _I hope this works,_ she thought. Kneeling to the ground, she quickly unsheathed her blades and, as the Ashlanders drew nearer, she threw them down, their tips burying into the ashen soil. She raised her hands high above her head, palms outward in a gesture of peace.

            The Ashlanders slowed, eyeing her suspiciously. They spoke in a language she did not understand as they circled her. One approached, quite suddenly, his spear hovering near her face. He had an air of authority about him, the tribal tattoos on his cheeks giving him a fierce appearance. “What does the Outlander want?”

            “Bah! She has no right to speak, Shabinbael! She is an Imperial devil and a _beast_! Strike her down!”

            “You would slay an unarmed opponent? You shame yourself, Ahasour, and your ancestors! Hold your tongue.” Ahasour dropped his gaze, eyes narrowing sullenly. “Speak, Outlander, and be quick about it.”

            “I—I bring you gifts.” She slowly lowered her hand to her pack, displaying gold and jewelry.

            “Gifts?” Shabinbael scrutinized the bounty, his expression unreadable when he turned his gaze on Adanji. “You think we have use for your trinkets, Outlander? Do you think yourself wealthy? Do you wish to force your soft, Outlander ways upon us?”

            “I am cautious, and considerate,” she said, her voice trembling as she recalled Hassour’s words, “But I am ignorant of your ways. Please forgive me if I offended you.” Her heart hammered in her chest. She was fully aware of the spears angled toward her, fearing that at any moment, one might pierce her gut.

            The Ashlanders exchanged curious glances, again speaking in their strange tongue.

“You are a courteous Outlander. We accept your gifts, and your apology.” He jerked his head to one of the hunters and she collected the gifts from Adanji’s satchel, as well as the weapons Adanji had thrown down, backing away slowly before storing them in her guar’s saddlebags. “Now tell us why you come here. Or leave if you have no further business.”

“I would like to speak with your wise woman.”

Quicker than a snake, three spears pointed at her chest, and Adanji was worried she had made some mistake. Her pulse rushed in her ears. Ahasour, the impatient Ashlander who had insisted they kill her, was shouting and, from the sound of it, cursing, but Shabinbael silenced him. “Why do you wish to do this thing?” he asked.

“I wish to learn of the Nerevarine Prophecies.” At this shocked murmurs spread among the group, and Adanji had to raise her voice to be heard, “I have reason to believe I may be Nerevar reborn.” She hoped she sounded more convincing to them than she did to herself. As far as she was concerned, only the Emperor—and maybe Caius—believed that.

“YOU DARE?!” spat Ahasour. “This Outlander _filth_ would spit on us! She mocks our honored traditions—mocks Indoril Nerevar!”

            “Silence, Ahasour, you have said your piece.” Shabinbael turned his attention to Adanji, regarding her closely.  “Come, Outlander. You have piqued my curiosity. We shall take you to our camp. There, you may prove your worth to us and to Zabamund, then we shall see if Sul-Matuul will allow Nibani Maesa to see you, or order you cast out. Sakiran! Bind her hands.”

 

            Adanji was led behind the group by rope, having to jog or be dragged along by the guar like some dead animal. She kept thinking about that invisibility potion Habasi had given her, burning a hole in her pack. If she wasn’t careful, she might be forced to use it. That was, if she would even get the chance to reach it.

            A large fire ahead of them signified the presence of the camp. Vast, guar-hide yurts were built in a circle around the fire, along with a few smaller ones dotting the outskirts. Hand-woven mats of many bright colors decorated the entrances to the yurts, along with banners on which Daedric symbols had been painted. The sound of wind chimes created from hollowed-out bamboo shafts and bone tickled Adanji’s ear-fur. The music would be soothing, if Adanji wasn’t terrified that at any moment she could be killed.

            _Keep calm,_ she thought, taking a slow, deep breath. _Just be polite, do as they say, and you’ll be fine. Probably. Maybe._ Hopefully.

            As they entered the camp, most of the group dispersed, some putting their guars inside a pen, feeding and grooming them. Two hauled their kill to the fire and began the process of cleaning it; Adanji looked away just as its intestines spilled to the floor. Sakiran led Adanji to the fire, gripping her firmly by the shoulder and instructing her to sit while Shabinbael ran to one of the nicer-looking yurts in the circle.

            As the moments passed, children gathered around, gawking at Adanji as if they had never seen a Khajiit before. They probably hadn’t, Adanji realized. She offered them a half-smile before one of the parents noticed and scowled at Adanji, ushering the children away with hushed words. Sakiran cuffed Adanji sharply over the ear. “S’wit.”

            Finally, after most of the tribe had learned of Adanji’s presence and were obviously talking about her, given how they glared and gestured in her general direction, Shabinbael emerged from the yurt with another Dunmer in tow. He was middle-aged, with scarred lips and a nose that looked as if it had been broken and reset a dozen times. There was wisdom in the fiery depths of his eyes. Adanji assumed this was Zabamund; the Gulakhan, champion of the Ashkhan.

            “So this is the Outlander you speak of?” he said. He regarded Adanji curiously. “Shabinbael says you wish to speak with our Wise Woman. Is this true?”

            “Yes,” Adanji said slowly, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, but stubbornly holding it. “I was told I would have to prove myself.”

            He held up a hand, silencing her. “Why do you wish to speak with Nibani?”

            Adanji swallowed, trying to keep her voice from quavering as she said, “I believe I satisfy the conditions of the Nerevarine Prophecy.”

            His eyes narrowed as he considered her words. “When Shabinbael told me a _beast_ professed to be the Nerevarine, I had assumed it was some tasteless joke. But here you stand before me, claiming to be one of our most ancient and precious of heroes, reborn!”

            Adanji bit her lower lip as she waited for him to continue, terrified that Zabamund might at any moment order her death. The following seconds were likely the longest she had ever experienced.

            “The Nerevarine Prophecies are not for outlanders,” he said calmly, “Why should Sul-Matuul or Nibani Maesa speak to you about these things? Who are you, that we should trust you?”

            Adanji took a deep breath. As quickly and thoroughly as she could, she explained all she had learned about the Sixth House and its activities, the Nerevarine Prophecies and its followers, and described her dreams; how a disturbing figure in a golden mask called to her, how real they felt and how she was afraid. She was careful to omit any detail pertaining to the Blades. Zabamund was silent through it all, his expression thoughtful. With a wave of his hand he dismissed his tribesmen, who had been hovering, listening hungrily—possibly waiting for a command to have Adanji cast out or killed. While some seemed disappointed, they all left Adanji and Zabamund alone by the fire.

            “These are not simple matters,” he began. “You know a great deal more than I would have thought, and some of what you say is news to me. I believe you should speak to Sul-Matuul. Perhaps he will be angry with me. But I think I can bear that. You will stay here for the night, as the hour is late. You may stay in my yurt. Then, at dawn, go to the Ashkhan's Yurt and speak with Sul-Matuul. Ask him your questions, and tell him I have sent you.”

 

***

            Adanji, while initially reluctant to share a yurt with a stranger, had quickly become grateful for its warmth and shelter against the chilly night winds. She had been allowed a package of dried meat from her satchel, which she ate for breakfast, washing it down with a few eager gulps from her flask, which had been refilled in a nearby stream by one of the tribesmen. She hadn’t been allowed any of her other belongings. The Urshilaku still regarded her with suspicion and barely-concealed hostility.

            She hovered nervously outside the Ashkhan’s yurt, wondering what she would say when she entered. She wished Zabamund would come with her to introduce her to Sul-Matuul, since she doubted she could trust herself alone with such a powerful figure within the tribe. What if she offended him just by entering his yurt, and he didn’t give her time to explain herself? She bounced a nervously on the balls of her feet, trying to ignore the eyes she could feel boring into her back.

 _Right,_ she thought, _let’s just get this over with_. She cleared her throat, opened the tent flap, and called in. “Sul-Matuul?”

An ancient-looking Dunmer sat on a grass mat in the middle of the yurt. He lifted his narrow chin as he surveyed her closely, the deep wrinkles around his eyes creasing with thought. He lowered the long smoking pipe that had been pressed to his lips. “Are you the Khajiit my people speak of? Interesting.” It sounded more like he meant to say ‘how bothersome.’

“I’m sorry for the intrusion.” Adanji said quickly. “I have permission from Zabamund to speak with you.”

He made a guttural noise in his throat. “Come in, then. You are letting in the cold. Now. What is it an Outlander would have to say to an Ashkhan?”

Adanji sat down Akaviri-style in front of Sul-Matuul, dipping her head slightly when she spoke with him as a sign of respect. “I think I may fulfill the Nerevarine Prophecies. I’d like to—I would humbly ask permission to speak with your wise woman, to be tested.”

            His eyes narrowed. “I had heard whispers of this, and still I did not believe. The audacity of such a thing...” He drew a long breath from his pipe, letting it out slowly through his nose in long tendrils of smoke. “But if my champion thought you worthy of my time...” He shook his head. “No. No outlander may join the Nerevarine cult. If you were a Clanfriend, an adopted member of the Ashlander tribes, then perhaps…” He pursed his lips, “You shall help around the camp. Prove your worth to the tribe. Then you shall come speak to me again when you are deemed worthy. Then I shall have a task for you; an initiation rite. Only if you pass this rite may you speak with Nibani Maesa. Now,” he waved his hand in dismissal, “Leave me.”

            That seemed rather final. Instead of pressing the matter, Adanji quickly bowed out of the yurt so as not to offend. She found herself yet again standing outside at a loss. Help the people? She wasn’t even sure they would accept her help. Maybe that was what the Ashkahn was hoping for? If she couldn’t prove herself then she would have to leave and he wouldn’t have to suffer the insult of having an outlander as the Nerevarine.

            Admittedly, a rather large part of her was relieved. She could go back to Caius and report that the Ashlanders would not have her. She could tell him the Emperor had made a mistake and maybe he would let her continue her life with the Thieves Guild.

            No, that was unlikely. She doubted the Blades, with all their secrets, would just let her leave. They might have her silenced for knowing too much, or keep her around as a glorified errand girl so they could keep an eye on her. Then there was that other part of her, much smaller, but vocal. She had gone through a lot to get here. Caius, whom she had come to admire, was beginning to respect her. She couldn’t just give up over a minor setback. Caius couldn’t respect that and, come to think of it, neither could she.

Catching sight of Zabamund, who was putting together a hunting party, she marched up to him. He waited until the party had set off before turning to her. “Yes, outlander, what did Sul-Matuul have to say?”

“I need to prove myself to the tribe.”

He nodded slowly, “Does he have a trial for you?”

“He mentioned a rite, but I think he means for me to either leave, or carry out menial tasks until he summons me.” She wasn’t sure he ever would.

Zabamund stroked his chin thoughtfully. “He is testing your strength of character. If you leave, you are not worthy. You must prove you have the humility to help the clan with anything they ask of you, however degrading you may find it, and the determination to see it through to the end.”

            She didn’t like the sound of that. Then again, she hadn’t really _liked_ much of anything Caius needed her to do. She sighed. “What would you have me do?”

            Zabamund smiled. It was closer to a smirk.

   

            Three days had passed since Adanji had been set to work. She was still sleeping in Zabamund’s yurt at night, for which she was thankful, but during the day she was digging around in the dirt. Zabamund had explained that, as most of the Urshilaku were proud warriors and hunters, they were above foraging for ash yams or trama root like common kwama. They normally traded for such necessities instead, but when they couldn’t, the task of harvesting them was typically reserved for children and elders who were not fit to track down dangerous prey. This, he said, would be a fitting place for an outlander to begin.

            Adanji took a deep breath, wiping sweat from her brow. It may have been frigid, but she had been toiling for hours and was almost done prying what trama root samples she could from the packed, ashen ground. She had quite the bounty piled in the basket Sakiran had lent her. The Urshilaku could make enough tea to last at least a month with this haul, she thought, or grind it up to spice several meals worth of meat.

            Still not one person had thanked her. She was beginning to think she could dig up the whole desert’s supply of trama root and nobody would notice her contribution. Standing, she dusted off her trousers—a vain attempt, since her hands were caked with dirt—picked up her basket, and turned back toward camp. Maybe she would have more luck tomorrow?

 

***

            When she entered Zabamund’s yurt a few nights later, she was welcomed with a smile.

            “Hello,” she said cautiously.

            “You look weary, outlander.”

            “I am. I was just about to go to sleep. Is there something else you need?” She really hoped there wasn’t. She had been enjoying her sleep.

            “You reek. I thought you might wish to bathe.” She stared a moment, just now noticing the two steaming buckets in the lamp light, a towel and washcloth set out beside them. Bottles of colored liquids were set up on a stool and from where she sat she could smell various perfumes emitting from them. “I admit I had always thought your kind licked yourselves clean, but I have seen no such proof of this in the time you have been here.”

            It was difficult to keep her temper in check as he spoke. “You’re right, we don’t do that.”

            “Ah. Then I was mistaken, as was my father before me.”

            “That’s ok,” she said quickly, not wanting to antagonize her only ally in the camp.

            “I appreciate your respect, outlander, but do not be so quick to forgive, especially if your pardon is a dishonest one.”

            She wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she just apologized.

            “No. You have shown great diligence this past week. The Ashkhan may require more of you, but you have proven yourself to me. This,” He gestured to the ‘bath,’ “Is a kindness, and I do not wish it to be spoiled. I pray it pleases you.” Without waiting for a response, he ducked out of the tent.

            Adanji took a moment to process just what had happened, but pushed it aside. The water was pleasantly warm as it soaked her fur. She took the cloth that had been provided and scrubbed away at all the soot and grime that had built up over the week. She had to scour herself three times, soiling the water in both buckets to a murky brown, before all the dirt was gone.

            As she toweled dry, she admired the sheen that the oils had left on her fur, and the pleasant aroma they gave off. She slipped into the thick wool robes that had been left for her, nuzzling the collar up to her chin as she lay back into her pillow. For the first time in ages, she felt relaxed. She could forget, for the moment, the prophecies and expectations looming over her head and just enjoy the simple luxury of being clean and warm. 


	11. The Ashkhan’s Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ashkhan sends Adanji on a quest to prove her worth.

**Chapter Ten**

The Ashkhan’s Task

 

            Adanji tossed and turned in her sleep. Since she had arrived at the Urshilaku camp nearly a fortnight ago, she had been blessed with dreamless slumber. She had attributed it to the long days of hard work, but now, for the first time in weeks, she dreamed once again.

 

_She was in a large cavern, dimly lit by a red-orange glow from below. It was stiflingly hot, so much that it was difficult to breathe. A massive dark figure loomed over her, but her mind did not wish to conceive its form. A man in a golden mask approached her from the behemoth’s shadow, smiling. It was the first time she saw it clearly; the smile was carved into the mask, which had three eye holes burning like coals and three horns sprouting from the brow. His voice rang out, impossibly loud and clear above the raucous, rhythmic beating of drums._

_"Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia! Long forgotten, forged anew!” She gasped, fear coursing through her at the sound of the name. No, not the name, but the certainty behind it. The knowledge that he was referring to her and no other name would fit. “Three belied you, three betrayed you! One you betrayed was three times true!”The masked figure stepped toward her, arms outstretched. She jerked back in revulsion. He drew away slowly, as if disappointed, but continued. “Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur, steadfast liegeman, faithful friend, bids you come and climb Red Mountain! Beneath Red Mountain, once again, break your bonds, shed cursed skin, and purge the n'wah from Morrowind!"_

_She found herself suddenly standing on a mountain, among Dwemer ruins, where she witnessed the swirling blue light of the Ghost Fence fade. Horrible dark shapes rushed forward, consuming the land like ants swarming over some dead thing._

_A voice called from the darkness, pulling at the edges of her reality._

            “Outlander! Wake up!”

            Adanji sat bolt upright, chest heaving as she gasped for breath. She glanced down at the hands on her shoulders—Zabamund had shaken her from her sleep. She must have been screaming, she realized.  “Sorry, did I wake you?”

            Zabamund shook his head, waving her away. “That is not important. What disturbed your slumber is. It is not for me to decide,” he said slowly, his eyes wide with wonder, “But I believe you were having a vision. I only woke you when it became too much and you cried out.”

            Adanji locked eyes with him. She swallowed at a lump in her throat. She was afraid of this. For once she could remember every detail of her nightmare and she didn’t like the implications. “I was dreaming about Dagoth Ur.”

            “Did he speak to you?” She nodded. “What did he say?”

            “He called me Lord Nerevar Indoril… He told me to join him at Red Mountain.” She shivered, staring down at her hands. She was here to be named Nerevarine, but she had been trying so very hard not to believe that’s who she was. It was too much responsibility for someone like her to take on. She wasn’t brave, or strong, or a good speaker. She had only gotten this far because she was pushed, and happened to be very lucky—or unlucky; at this point, it was hard to decide. How could she be part of any prophecy? She glanced up to see Zabamund gaping at her. Apparently, he was more convinced than she was.

            “Come. Sul-Matuul must hear of this.”

***

            “Are you are sure of this?”

            “Positive.”

            Sul-Matuul sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. Clearly it was too early for interruptions, however important they may be, and they had been discussing this for over an hour. Frankly, Adanji was just as frustrated by it as they were, since she was the one who had to describe every last thing she had seen, in as much detail as she could muster. She had done so three times already by her count. “How do we know she is not deceiving you?”

            Adanji held her tongue as Zabamund spoke for her, “She has seen things about which no outlander could possibly know. She described the chambers of the Heart— she even saw

Numidium.”

            That was what the drumming had been, according to the Ashkhan; the Heart of Lorkhan, a long dead god, the one responsible for the creation of Nirn. He had tricked Magnus into forging the mortal plane and for his deception the gods cut out his heart and flung it into the center of Nirn. It still beat within the core of Red Mountain, and in some places throughout Vvardenfell, under certain conditions, its pulse could be heard. They refused to tell her just what Numidium was, but she suspected it had something to do with the impossible metal giant she had seen.

            Sul-Matuul still looked unconvinced. She honestly couldn’t blame him, and perhaps that was what annoyed her the most. “Numidium was destroyed—Dagoth Ur may be building it anew, however. It matters not. The fact remains that she _is_ an outlander. The Prophecies are not for—”

            “Look,” she said flatly, causing both men to gawk at her. Zabamund shook his head behind Sul-Matuul’s back in warning. She ignored him, “I know you don’t want me here. I’ve been working for two weeks completing petty tasks just so you might find me worthy enough to complete yet _another_ task, but it looks like you never will. What are you afraid of?”

            “You will show me the proper respect, Outlander!” Sul-Matuul spat.

            She knew it wasn’t smart to bait him, but she was sick of him wasting her time— especially after her vision. With a concerted effort, she continued in a calmer tone, “Then with all due respect, maybe we should discuss that favor you mentioned when I got here. I’m assuming it’s dangerous; otherwise it wouldn’t be a proper test of my ‘worth’, right?” He scowled, but nodded stiffly. “So, what do you have to lose? Give me the rite and if I die, I am out of your hair for good. If I come back alive, well, by your own laws I’ll be ‘Clanfriend,’ and no longer an Outlander. Maybe then you can take me seriously.”

            The Ashkhan and Gulakhan exchanged a long look. Adanji knew it conveyed far more than words could. “As you say,” Sul-Matuul rumbled, a hint of menace in his voice, “I shall give you the initiation rite.” He pondered for a moment, hand resting on his chin, then said, “Go to the Urshilaku Burial Caverns and fetch me Sul-Senipul's Bonebiter Bow. Sul-Senipul was my father, and his spirit guards his bonemold long bow deep in the burial caverns. Return to me with this bow, and I will adopt you into the Ashlander tribes as a Clanfriend.”

             “Fine,” Adanji said, already beginning to regret her haste; it looked like she would be dealing with the undead again. “Where are these caverns? What will I be facing?” He took his time to answer, readying his pipe with a mix of herbs and lighting it.

            “The burial caverns lie to the south-southeast of the camp, a north-facing door in a little hill halfway between us and the crags of Red Mountain.” He stuck his pipe in his mouth and sucked on it for a while, regarding her thoughtfully. For a moment it looked like this was all he was going to give her. Just as she opened her mouth to ask for more specific directions, he continued.

            “Go north from the camp to the water’s edge, then travel east. At a rock cairn on the beach, turn and venture south until you find the door. You will recognize it by this symbol on the rock face.” He drew a little Daedric symbol in the dirt, which Adanji recognized as the one on all the Urshilaku banners. “The Ashkhans are buried in a place of honor, high up in the cavern.” He leaned back into his cushion, a little smirk on his face. “The spirits of our ancestors guard the caverns. They will attack you, and kill you if they can. Force your way past them, or evade them. Get the bow, and return to prove your worthiness.”

            “I have one more question before I go, if I may.”

            He crossed his arms, “… What is it, then?”

            “When I got here, I had a satchel and supplies with me. They were confiscated. Can I have them back? I’m not sure I would be able to make the journey without them.”

            “Hmph.” He nodded once to Zabamund, who scurried off and returned shortly after with the bag in hand, “Take it, along with anything else you think you may need. We wouldn’t wish you to go unprepared, would we?”

            She didn’t like the contempt in his voice, but she forced herself to ignore it. She should be happy she had even managed to get the rite out of him. Dipping her head respectfully, she bowed out of the yurt and into the chilly predawn air. She yawned and stretched, relieving cramped muscles before ducking into Zabamund’s tent to get ready. Half an hour later she emerged, donning her netch armor, her satchel slung over her shoulder and blades at her hips.

            “You have done well,” a voice whispered in her ear.

            She glanced up into Zabamund’s eyes. “Are you sure? I didn’t really think yelling at an Ashkhan would get me very far.”

            A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, “No, I daresay it did not. What you did was show him that you take the Nerevarine Prophecies seriously. Seriously enough to challenge him. That is why he gave you the rite. In truth, I did not think that he would.”

            She didn’t have the heart to tell him that, until last night’s vision, she had been just as skeptical about her place in the Prophecies as the Ashkhan was. Instead she supplied, “Neither did I. To be honest, I was afraid he would just kill me.” Then again, maybe he hoped the ‘rite’ _would_ kill her? It did seem odd, now that she thought about it, that he was sending her to loot something from a tomb—a place his people viewed as sacred.

            Zabamund chuckled softly and clapped her on the shoulder, almost affectionately, dissipating such fears for the moment, “Fortune be with you, Outlander. I, for one, look forward to calling you Clanfriend.”

            Adanji grinned. That was the nicest thing anyone had told her since she had come here. Squaring her shoulders, she strode past the curious onlookers who had started their day early. She overheard a child asking his mother where ‘the beast’ was going and imagined the muttered response must be something along the lines of “hopefully, far away.” She wandered over the gentle slopes in which the camp was nestled, passed a few broken, withered trees, and eventually reached the ocean shore.

            The gentle waves lapped at her toes, soaking her fur as she gazed out into the Sea of Ghosts. Turning briefly to the west, she admired how Magnus’ light reflected off the tips of rock faces and treetops, turning them gold. She then gazed beyond them, at the clouds darkening the sky. Her eyes dropped back down to the islands that were mere specks on the horizon, and she wondered how far away Cyrodiil really was; if she could just strike out from here and make the swim back to the familiar, lush green lands.

            Of course she understood that was a silly, childish fantasy. Chances were, she would drown, or freeze to death, or get eaten by something before even making it a quarter of the way. And what would be the point? There was nothing for her there, anymore. Though she had long since accepted the Thieves Guild as her home and family, she hadn’t fully grasped that simple truth until now; even if Caius had let her return to the Imperial City as a free woman, what would she do? Where would she go?

            No, her roots were firmly planted in Morrowind now and, much as she hated it, she seemed to have a purpose. 

            She turned back to the east, toward the sunrise, and followed the shore. She traveled a few quiet miles, her footprints getting washed away by the tide, before coming across a manmade pile of rough stones. An old canvas flag was tied about its middle with a frayed rope. The faded symbol stitched into it matched the one Sul-Matuul had drawn in the dirt. This had to be the cairn he had mentioned.

            She took a moment to rest and catch her breath, gulping down a few mouthfuls of water from her flask before heading south. It became harder to keep her bearings the further she went; thick clouds had already obscured the sun and unlike the shore, which was easy to follow, there was no direct path here. Everything looked the same. She found herself meandering over hillocks and around jagged outcroppings of rock and was further hindered by clusters of dead trees and thick gnarled roots.

            Frustrated, she found a fixed point to stare at—one of the taller stone spires to the northwest of Red Mountain—and did her best to keep it in sight, pushing herself to go over or through as many of the obstacles as she could instead of circling them and losing her point of reference. Finally, she came across a small hill with a cracked wooden door built right into it. A rock jutting out of the ground had that same symbol carved into it.

            _Here I am…_

            Tentatively, she slipped inside. Unlike the Andrano Ancestral Tomb, the Urshilaku burial caverns were a natural grotto; nothing had been carved or built into the walls. In fact, it was clear the only things the Ashlanders had added were the doors and the occasional cairn with piles of dried wood atop them, which she was sure the Urshilaku would light when they visited. Just like the Andrano tomb, however, she could hear a faint breathing that wasn’t her own.

            She instinctively crouched and clung to the readily available shadows, though she feared that would do her no good. Last time, the wraiths had still seen her. She pressed forward and the ground started sloping steadily downward. As she went along, occasionally having to climb down abrupt drops in the cave floor, she noticed what looked like statues along the walls. They sat Akaviri-style and clutched spears or swords, along with the occasional bow. Curious, she crept up to one to get a better look and almost immediately scrambled away, closing her throat to silence a cry of alarm. They weren’t statues; they were corpses—desiccated and dusty. It seemed the Ashlanders embalmed their dead, positioning them along the walls to keep eternal vigil over their domain. She shivered. At least they weren’t moving…

            _Get a hold of yourself,_ she thought firmly, trying to still her nerves, _you’ve done this before, and now you’re better prepared. You’ll be fine._

            Sure. So long as she didn’t come across another walking sack of meat and broken bones from Vaermina’s worst nightmares, she would be fine. Taking a deep, and what she had hoped would be calming, breath, she continued her trek, slinking along the walls if only because it gave her a sense of security.

            She encountered a fork in her path very quickly; she could go left, right, or stay the course. She peeked around the corner. It was easy to see that the right path was a dead end, and she saw a skeleton marching around in it guarding what looked like treasure left for the dead. She heard the same creaking of joints echoing from the left path, which descended into shadows. Hoping she was going in the right direction, she slunk past the skeleton-occupied alcove and continued in the direction she had been going.

            She lost track of time before the ground began to level out and she came to a small chamber with a pond at its center. A noise behind her made her jump, but much to her relief it was only a cave rat. Just as frightened by Adanji’s sudden appearance as she was of its, it stood on its haunches, puffed up its fur, and hissed a warning. She hissed right back and caught the creature mid-lunge, skewering it with her dagger just as its jaws clamped down on her forearm. She was glad that her armor had kept its teeth from sinking into her flesh; even though its bite wouldn’t have hurt much, it stunk of disease. She dropped the creature and left it to rot in the dirt.

            After the pond, the path continued to descend until she reached a much larger chamber, this one flooded up to her knees and, in some places, up to her chest. She could hear the water dripping from some place above her head, and every step she took sent out ripples and, to her ears, an ungodly noise. It was impossible to move quietly here, the way the water sloshed around her. She stilled occasionally, her ears straining. She was surprised she had found no opposition beyond the rat by the time she reached a fork in her path. 

            _Left or right…?_ She wished Sul-Matuul had given her better directions, but assumed this was as much part of her test as surviving the spirits she had yet to encounter and retrieving the bow. Both paths were illuminated by soft light. She could see unusual blue flames reflected off the pool’s surface. She had started toward the right when movement caught her eye. After a moment of squinting at it she realized it was a skeleton. Another one was just behind it. They hadn’t seen her, yet.

            She reached into her pack, felt around, and pulled out the smallest of the glass vials, regarding it thoughtfully. It was the invisibility potion Habasi had given her. She wondered if she should drink it and just breeze through the whole rite, but there was no way of knowing how long the effects would last, or how much further she even had to go. No, she thought; best to save it for when she really needed it. Besides, would invisibility even work on the undead, which seemed capable of seeing her even with their eyeless sockets?

            She tossed it back into her pack. _Left it is._ If she reached a dead end, she reasoned, she could turn around and brave the two skeletons. Though she wished to ration them, she did have potions and scrolls she could use if she was badly wounded.

            At the end of her chosen path, the ground sloped up out of the water and she saw a door, guarded by another skeleton. Though there was only the one, which comforted her somewhat, she didn’t want to alert it to her presence if she didn’t have to. She didn’t want a fight drawing the others toward them and complicating things. She waded at a snail’s pace through the pool, making as little noise as possible and keeping her eyes peeled for any sign that the carcass had noticed her.

            When she was out of the water, she lingered, doing her best imitation of a statue as the beads snaked down her legs and dripped from her tail. The skeleton just stood there, motionless as she was, gaping ahead of it as though it had no purpose beyond keeping that door safe. Come to think of it, that probably _was_ its only purpose.  Her muscles were screaming for some form of movement by the time she felt the last few droplets fall.

            She sidled over to the wall, creeping along with her back to it. The creature watched her. She knew it _had_ to have seen her by the time she was halfway to the door, with all the light from those blasted azure flames, but it remained still as the grave. She smiled wryly; here she was staring death in the face and all she could do was think of awful puns. Another step. And another. She was inches from it, the proximity forced on her by the curve of the wall, and it hadn’t moved once beyond turning its head to track her. She narrowed her eyes. _So you_ do _see me. Why haven’t you attacked?_

            She thought about simply sliding past. Maybe it would let her? Maybe it would only attack if she did? But she didn’t trust that. So she unsheathed her weapons and recalled her lessons. ‘ _Don’t hold your breath,’_ Habasi’s voice rang in her mind, ‘ _You think it helps with concentration. It only dulls the senses.’_

The Mastermind had said it on her first day of combat training. The lesson had been about proper breathing; she had always held her breath under pressure, or when she was trying too hard to focus. It had been an unconscious thing, like tapping a quill on parchment when you’re bored or can’t find the right words. ‘ _Breathe and move. Do not stop. Breathe in when you find an opening; this will give you focus. Breathe out when you strike; this will lend you strength.’_

            She inhaled slowly, focusing on its neck, and exhaled sharply as she lunged, closing the gap between them. Instantly, the skeleton raised its spear in a block that jarred Adanji’s bones and flung her back a few steps. She was about to try again when the skeleton put her on the defensive.  It swiped the butt of the weapon at her gut. She yowled and danced away, her back slamming into the wall, winding her. _‘Be always aware of your surroundings!_ ’ Habasi’s voice chided her.

            The revenant was surprisingly fast as it adjusted its footing and angled the weapon at her chest, mouth gaping in a soundless battle cry as it charged.

            She was barely able to deflect the point away from her heart, catching it with a clumsy swipe of her dagger, but screamed as the spear punctured her armor and burrowed deep into her shoulder. She lost her grip and her dagger clattered to the floor. She slumped a little, wheezing when the skeleton dislodged its weapon and made for another attack. Though her vision was distorted with tears, she still saw the shadow of the movement and grabbed the shaft with her now-empty hand, pushing it up and ducking at the same time, forcing an opening. She surged forward, slipping her broadsword up through its ribs and into its spine. It caught fire and exploded into embers, which drifted to the ground like snow.

            She looked blurrily around, ears perked, to make sure the other skeletons hadn’t been lured by the commotion, before plopping to the ground and gripping her wound. She took a few deep, ragged breaths, steadying herself, before rummaging in her satchel and withdrawing one of the potions. She surveyed it closely to ensure it was the healing potion, noting the dark, herbal green muck it contained, and then knocked it back. It was incredibly bitter, and she had to resist the urge to spit it back up. She swallowed a few times to get down the last bit; the leaves hadn’t been crushed well and wanted to stick.

            Within moments, a searing heat flooded through her from her stomach, spreading through her veins like tendrils of flame, almost searching. Finally, it reached her shoulder and she felt the tissue stitch itself back together, the blood slowing until it stopped entirely. A few agonizing minutes later, the intensity of the heat began to fade, and she was left merely warm, if uncomfortably so. Sitting like this, with her back resting against the wall, she noticed how tired she felt, and realized it must be getting late. There was no way to tell this far underground.

            Glancing again in the direction she had come from and seeing no signs of the walking corpses, she decided it might be safe enough to sleep where she was. She had a few sips of water, ate a strip of dried nix hound, and curled up by the pyre. She didn’t sleep very long before she woke, disturbed by the exact dream she had had the night before. Frustrated, she tried a few more times before deciding she wasn’t going to get a decent rest anyway, picked up her pack, and pressed onward.

            She found herself in a tight tunnel that twisted everywhere but up. She could hear water running somewhere in the distance. She wound her way through it until, rather unexpectedly, she turned out into a massive chamber. Light flooded down from the ceiling and she saw that it opened up to the sky. The stars and moons were just visible through the fissure, through which a waterfall was pouring, splashing loudly against the walls. It hit the stone and separated into three, which gushed into a stream that disappeared somewhere underground. It was beautiful. She smiled, feeling some small relief that she was no longer in such a cramped space and took a breath of fresh air.

            All around her, carved into the walls, were other chambers. They went up and up, almost reaching the ceiling. At the center of the chamber, illuminated by the moons, was a stone pillar, around which a ramp had been built, little rope bridges branching out from it to the various hollows. It looked as old as the stone itself, and rickety. She remembered Sul-Matuul telling her that the Askhans were buried on higher ground; she assumed this was it.

            The question was, which of the chambers did she need?

            On closer inspection, she thought she had her answer. The ramp went only two-thirds of the way up the spire. There was plenty of room for the Urshilaku to build and expand, making way for future Ashkhans. As she climbed, she noticed that each ascending bridge looked decades newer than the last; it was likely that the most recent Ashkhan was buried at the top, and she assumed Sul-Senipul had been the most recent before his son.

            She climbed the ramp slowly, careful to step on the outer edges, closer to the supports. Even so, she still felt like it may give under her weight at any moment. The creaking and groaning with her every move didn’t help. She wondered how it could possibly support the weight of two or more Dunmeri hauling a corpse, but took heart knowing it at least had to have when Sul-Matuul had buried his father.

            She stopped near the top of the spire, regarding that door with apprehension. She had expected this whole rite to be more daunting than it had proven, even with her wounded shoulder, and wondered if the real challenge waited ahead of her. Her last foray into a tomb had taught her not to get cocky.

             Through the door, she heard at least two more skeletons patrolling the chamber ahead. A peek around the corner revealed that one was walking away from her and the other, equipped with a bow, was peering out from a natural sort of balcony where the path wound upwards.

            She knew she could avoid getting an arrow to the face—or any other part of her—if she kept along the right wall, where the creature was stationed. She might even be able to catch the other off-guard, if she timed it right. She felt a thrill of terror at the thought. The skeleton she had killed moments ago hadn’t moved; it had lulled her into a false sense of security and had proven to be very fast and strong when she had attacked. These ones were not only actively patrolling the room, but were protecting the tomb of an Ashkhan. Would that make them stronger?

            _I can do this. Just have to be careful…_ Every few meters there was a basin where the strange blue flames flickered, but there was still plenty of shadow to hide in. She ducked back behind her corner when she saw the closer skeleton turn and walk in her direction. It stopped for a few moments, and she saw from its shadow on the wall that it was looking in her general direction. She waited, her breaths as shallow as she could make them, until finally it turned and walked away.

            _Now!_

            Swiftly and silently, she darted from cover, keeping close to the wall on her right, unsheathed her shortsword, and swung with both hands. The skull was hacked cleanly from the shoulders and it fell with a clatter. A noise to her left caught her attention and she saw an arrow rolling away; it must have deflected off the wall as the skeleton above her had shot into the darkness. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she sprinted up and around the corner. The skeleton had knocked another arrow and was tracing her movements with it. She zigzagged, hoping that would make it harder to aim as she closed the distance. The arrow loosed, grazing her ribs as she whirled, catching the bow with her dagger and dragging it to the side while she bisected the revenant with a slash of her sword.

            As she stood over it, panting heavily, she took a moment to examine her wound; it stung, but she didn’t think it was worth wasting a potion on. She grinned stupidly, feeling oddly empowered. She knew there was no way that should have worked out so well for her, but the fact that it had excited her. She embraced the feeling, but gave it a moment to die down before continuing; she didn’t want it to go to her head.

            She had slipped past two more skeletons by the time she finally reached the end of the tunnel where, on a sarcophagus, she saw the dried remains of a Dunmer. He was dressed in fine robes, woven from a soft wool and dyed a deep red; his hands were crossed over his chest and in them he clasped a longbow. It glowed faintly, hinting at enchantment. She knew it without a doubt; this was Sul-Senipul's Bonebiter Bow.

            _I just know something’s going to attack me,_ she thought wryly, remembering the awful creature from the Andrano tomb, _just as soon as I pick that up._ She still had her sword out, but shifted her weight and held it at the ready as she reached out and brushed her fingers over the bow. Instantly a soul-shattering screech filled the tomb and made Adanji’s heart drop somewhere into her pelvis. She leaped back, clumsily whipping out her dagger and eyeing the wraith that had pushed itself from Sul-Senipul’s withered remains.

            “I need that bow,” she said, though she doubted the thing would listen, “Sul-Matuul sent me and I’m not leaving without it!”

            The ghost regarded her for a moment, its head slightly cocked, and she wondered briefly if it had understood her. The illusion was quickly broken when it swooped down on her. She swung her sword down on it but, though it briefly caught fire, it kept going. It pushed through her and she felt that all-too-familiar chill grip her heart, the pain almost sending her to her knees. She whirled and cried out as it came again, and again it charged through her. Her vision dimmed and she felt frost forming on her fur, her teeth locking too tightly to chatter.

            Finally, on the third strike, the flames engulfed it and it dissolved into ectoplasm. She sat down and rubbed vigorously at her chest and arms, the friction slowly restoring heat to her body. When her pulse returned to normal and she was sure she wouldn’t die of cold, Adanji reached up and grabbed the bow, prying it from Sul-Senipul’s death grip.

             She turned it over in the light, admiring the designs that had been carved into its bonemold surface, and gave its string an experimental tug. Of course, she lacked the physical strength to pull it very far and feared that if she tried too hard the worn string might snap. She was pretty sure Sul-Matuul would want it intact.

            Sheathing her blade and slinging the bow over her shoulder, Adanji got to her feet and started out of the tomb. Though she was sure one of the skeletons had seen her, she was curious to find that it didn’t attack; it had just watched her pass by. She wondered if it was because she had somehow earned favor with the Urshilaku ancestors by winning the bow. It would have seemed a rather silly concept to her not long ago, but now she wasn’t so sure; she simply counted it a blessing and moved on.

            She had to wait out an ash storm before she could return to camp, and it was midday by the time she got there. It looked as though they had tried packing up; a few of the yurts had been taken down. As she passed by, she got a number of looks ranging from curious to annoyed, and she was sure she saw someone begin the process of putting their yurt up again. She got the distinct feeling that they didn’t think she would be returning, or had hoped she wouldn’t, and her survival had ruined their plans. Irritated, she pushed into Zabamund’s yurt.

            “Ah! Khajiit, you return—and you have the Bonebiter Bow. Excellent! Come, we must get it to Sul-Matuul.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along behind him toward the Ashkhan’s tent.

            “Why is everyone packing up?”

            Zabamund made a face, and she could tell from his expression that her fears had been correct, “The Ashkhan had hoped… he did not think you would survive. If you did, he hoped to evade you. He believes in the Nerevarine Prophecies, but he does not wish an outlander to be involved; it is not done. We would have been gone from here by now, if it were not for the strange timing of the ash storm. It came from nowhere as soon as the first yurt was down. I think it is a sign from Azura.”

            _Please don’t talk like that…_ Adanji thought. Sure, she had begun to accept that she might bea part of these prophecies, but that didn’t mean she had to like it, nor did she want to be reminded of it every few seconds.

            Sul-Matuul’s head snapped up and he frowned when the two entered his yurt. “Outlander…”

            Gingerly, Adanji lifted the bow off her shoulder and held it out, resting on her open palms. She even knelt slightly, dipping her head. “Here is the bow, as you asked.”

             Sul-Matuul narrowed his eyes. For a moment, Adanji was afraid he would go back on his word. Instead, he reached out and took the bow from her, examining it closely. “I did not think to see this again,” he said quietly. She was sure she saw tears brimming in his eyes, but they seemed to dry the instant they met hers. “What is your name, Outlander?”

            She felt her fur prickle. “Adanji.”

            “Adanji. You have returned my father’s bow to me, and in doing so you have completed the initiation rite. I name you Adanji, Clanfriend of the Ashlanders. Keep my father's bow, and bear it with honor.”

            “I want you to have it,” Adanji said quickly, without thinking. She felt Zabamund stiffen behind her. She had no use for a bow; she didn’t have any skill with archery and knew it took years of training to be effective. She doubted she had years to complete her mission and, assuming she survived it, was sure she would be glad to retire to a peaceful life of books and the occasional theft. Not wanting to offend, she amended, “It was your father’s bow. It belongs with you.”

            He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable and she was afraid she had misspoken. “You are a generous outlander,” he finally said, “I will keep the bow, then. Thank you.” He stood, “We will hold your naming ceremony tonight, that all Urshilaku will know you as friend and honored guest. Zabamund will help you make ready. Then, when the ceremony is complete, you may speak with Nibani Maesa, and be tested against the prophecies.”

            “Thank you,” Adanji said, relieved. Just as she was about to leave, she was called back.

            “I do not think you are the Nerevarine, Adanji, but you have proven yourself to be an honorable outlander. This is a rare thing.” He nodded to the tent flap, “Now you may go, and prepare.”

***

            Zabamund had left her to take another bath and this one was no less relaxing than the last. In fact, she was sure it was better this time, since that morning a part of her had been certain she wouldn’t even make it back alive. She took her time with the hot water, soaking her feet when she had finished cleansing the rest of her body, and only withdrew them when the water had started to get cold.

            The robes that had been left with her this time were more complex and bordered on luxurious. She had even been given jewelry. When Zabamund returned to her, it was with small pouch and a bowl of deep burgundy paint made from various plants. He dipped his fingers into it and told her to close her eyes. She felt him draw the sticky solution across her face in a tribal pattern. When he was done with that, he presented three earrings from the pouch. “Your ears are not pierced, I see, so this may be painful, but in this way you will be bound to us. It is a symbol Ashlanders will recognize, so that they may not attack you on sight, but it is a tradition the settled peoples are not aware of, so you will not be alienated when you return to them.”

            Adanji peered at the earrings. They were simple gold hoops but, when she looked closely, each had Daedric designs imprinted into it, representing the ancestors the Ashlanders worshiped. They were pretty, much like the treasures she had dreamed of having a lifetime ago. She remembered how she envied the rare wealthy Khajiiti she had seen— like the brothers who owned the Black Horse Courier— who had their manes twisted up into elaborate headdresses and their ears adorned with countless glittering gemstones. These, she understood, held much more significance than those symbols of wealth ever could. “They’re wonderful. Do I need to wear them during the ceremony, or is the piercing part of it?”

            In answer, Zabamund produced a thick needle. He uttered a spell and between his fingers ignited a small flame, into which he inserted the point. He held it there a few minutes before instructing Adanji to sit. She clenched her teeth and dug her claws into the cushion she was sitting on, but the process was relatively painless until he had to work the rings into the fresh holes. At least she was getting more used to pain lately, though she really didn’t think that was a good thing. When he was done, she had two piercings in her right ear and one in her left. Mercifully, Zabamund had pierced them at the base, so the tips weren’t pulled down by the weight.

            “There. I believe you are ready to be presented to the clan.” He smiled genuinely, and Adanji couldn’t help but smile back, even knowing the burdens this would add to her already staggering list. 

***

            Sul-Matuul gathered the Urshilaku for the ceremony when the sun was but an hour’s journey from the horizon. The yurts had all been set back up and a meal was being prepared. The hunters had returned with some strange creatures that looked like a bizarre mix between a dog and a giant green ant. They had been de-shelled and were now being roasted over the fire. Adanji realized that she knew that smell—it was the mysterious nix-hound she had loved so much. Now she was beginning to question her tastes, though the scent was still delectable. 

            Over another fire, in a large, steaming cauldron, ash yams were being boiled with trama root, marshmerrow, and saltrice into a thick, spicy-sweet stew. As the feast cooked, the tribe gathered around. Adanji shifted under their stares, suddenly self-conscious. When Sul-Matuul turned to her, she bowed as Zabamund had instructed, her arms crossed over her chest.

            “A fortnight ago,” the Ashkhan’s voice rang out as he placed his hand on her shoulder, “This Khajiit came into our camp a stranger, an outlander and intruder. She had no understanding of our ways, and therefore could not respect them. However, in her days here she has proven herself dedicated and resourceful, and on this day she has proven to me that she has honor and strength. It is for these virtues that I now name her, under the watch of my people and my ancestors, Adanji—Clanfriend. May she be shown the same respect as our finest hunters.”

            She felt her cheeks warm and her fur prickle slightly as a cheer rose, at first quiet and hesitant, then growing into thunderous enthusiasm.  She did notice several sideways glances and disapproving glares in the crowd once the noise died down, but for once she couldn’t bring herself to care. She had overcome a great obstacle in gaining Sul-Matuul’s favor, and the clan would have to respect the Ashkhan’s wishes, even if they did not approve of her.

            “Eat, Clanfriend, and partake in the madness of the revelries.” Sul-Matuul said to Adanji as the crowd dispersed, the young and the elderly sitting down as they were served their food.

            “What about Nibani?”

            “You may speak with her at dawn,” he said with a demure smile, “We so rarely have such grand celebrations; it is good to enjoy them when they last.”

            He had a point, and Adanji was glad to put off the impending prophecies for just a little longer. That evening she dined with the Ashkhan and his Gulakhan, eating nearly double her usual portions, giving her a pleasant, tired buzz. For the first time she was allowed to partake in the stories the clan spun around the fire, listening intently to wild tales of dangerous hunts and adventures as the hunters told them, elaborating with exaggerated hand gestures.

            She smiled and enjoyed the warm— if somewhat tense— sense of kinship, knowing that tomorrow she would be right back to work.


	12. Trials of a Wise Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adanji discovers the Ashlanders' view of the prophecies and her role in them. The land awakens to a new fear.

**Chapter Eleven**

Trials of a Wise Woman

 

            The morning started early for Adanji—a bit earlier than she would have liked. Though she had stayed up late dining and drinking with the rest of the tribe, once she had found her bedroll her night had been restless. Her slumber was full of images of Dagoth Ur beckoning to her. As soon as she had been alerted that the wise woman was awake and had broken her fast, Adanji made for her yurt. Located on the outer edge of the camp, giving the illusion of privacy, Nibani Maesa’s yurt was second only to the Ashkhan’s in size. Three bamboo-and-bone wind chimes hung outside the entrance, playing a gentle tune in the breeze.

            “Nibani?” Adanji called from outside the tent flap.

            The woman looked up from a pile of herbs and alchemy reagents she had compiled on a mat in front of her. She had the appearance of one who had been attractive in her youth, but whose beauty had been diminished with years of experience and disappointments. “Outlander? Or should I say Clanfriend?” Her mouth twisted into a sardonic smile, and she pulled her long, silver braids behind her shoulders, out of her way. “Come in.” Adanji did as she said, kneeling across from her in the warmth of the small fire between them. The smoke drifted up and out of a small hole in the roof which acted as a makeshift chimney.

            “Zabamund speaks highly of you,” the wise woman said, “For a beast, he does not think you are so bad.”

            “And what do you think?” Adanji chanced. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer, but she needed to know where she stood.

            “I have had little time to judge. From what I have seen, and heard, you are hard-headed and ignorant. But perhaps it is not your fault. My lord Ashkhan says you will ask me about the Nerevarine prophecies. He also says I will test you against them. I must do as my lord Ashkhan says, so ask your questions, and I will test you.”

            “I suppose we should start from the beginning, right? I’ve heard a lot a lot about Nerevar, himself,” she began, “But I’ve mostly only heard what the Temple thinks of him, and I’m not sure I trust the Temple. Who was Nerevar to the Ashlanders?” Of course she remembered Huleeya’s notes, detailing what an Ashlander might say about Nerevar, but she had no way of knowing how accurate they were.

            “It is wise not to trust the Temple, Clanfriend. They are full of lies conceived to cover their misdeeds.” The wise woman took a deep breath and her eyes glazed over as she recounted the tale, “In ages long past, the Dwemeri and a great many outlanders from the West came stealing the land of the Dunmer…”

            As the wise woman recounted the tale, Adanji noticed it was almost exactly like Huleeya’s notes, even detailing how the Tribunal had betrayed Nerevar, slaying him in secret and breaking his oath to the Ashlanders and Azura. She wondered how the Argonian had known Ashlander history so well, wondering if he was a Dissident, or knew one, but realized it ultimately didn’t matter; his information had been accurate, and that was enough. “One day,” Nibani concluded, “Nerevar will come again and cast down the false gods, and by the power of his ring will make good his promises, honor the Spirits, and drive the Imperial invaders from the land.”

            She still didn’t like that last part of the prophecy, and it seemed to her, if the outlanders had been driven out once already, Indoril had already kept his promise. In truth, she didn’t think she was anything like Nerevar. But Caius and the Emperor, for whatever reason, still needed her to be the Nerevarine. She noticed Nibani regarding her with her piercing eyes, so she continued her questions. “I’ve heard of Nerevar’s ring, Moon-and-star. It was also mentioned in a prophecy I read.”

            “Which one?”

            “‘The Stranger.’”

            “You know this prophecy?” She almost sounded impressed, “Speak it to me.”

            “Oh…” Adanji shifted uncomfortably at being put on the spot, but she’d had plenty of time to go over her notes during her stay. She cleared her throat, “‘When earth is sundered, and skies choked black, and sleepers serve the seven curses, to the hearth there comes a stranger, journeyed far 'neath moon and star…’” She recited the whole thing from memory, only faltering slightly on the last line, “‘…Many fall, but one remains.’”

            “You know the verses well; but knowing a thing, and understanding it, are often very different.” Nibani said, “There are many Nerevarine prophecies, and they suggest many things. The certain sign, and uncertain parents; the moon-and-star; sleepers; Seven curses; The curses' bane; The prophecy of the Seven Visions; The lost prophecies. All are unique. If you are patient—if you are wise—you may ask me about them and I, in my greatest capacity, will explain them.”

            “I’ve seen the sleepers you’ve mentioned,” she said quickly. That one was very hard not to latch onto, and it had taken some effort not to interrupt the wise woman as soon as she had mentioned them. “Two confronted me in the streets, telling me Dagoth Ur is calling me. They even knew my name.”

            “Yes, I have heard the rumors that they wander the streets, attacking people and preaching of their false god—they say that he has awakened, yes?” She paused and Adanji nodded. “Perhaps it is just a coincidence, but I think it is a sign of the Nerevarine. Not necessarily a sign that _you_ are the Nerevarine. Perhaps the time of the Nerevarine has come, and you have come at the same time. This is not passing a test, but it may mean you have some part to play in the coming of the Nerevarine.”

            “I have uncertain parents,” Adanji said, clarifying, “I’m an orphan, but I know I was born in the month of Evening Star, under the sign of the Thief.” She only just remembered that in a little over two weeks it would be her nineteenth birthday. Time had flown since her arrival, and too much else had been on her mind to notice.

            “This is part of the prophecy, yes. But many have the same birthday, and many are not sure of their parents. It is interesting, but it does not make you the Nerevarine.”

            “What about my visions?”

            “My lord Ashkhan has mentioned your dreams to me. Describe them, if you would.”

            Adanji did as she asked, explaining every dream she could recall in as much detail as she could muster. The last dream had been easy; it stuck in her brain like a bur on wool. The whole time she spoke, Nibani listened with that same thoughtful expression, but the doubt remained in the thin line of her lips.

            “These are strange dreams, indeed. The Sharmat Dagoth Ur speaks to you, in the voice of prophecy. He curses the three betrayers, the three false gods, Vivec, Almalexia, Sotha Sil. He calls you to drive the outlanders from Morrowind. This is a very strong dream, very cunning, a dream to stir hearts.” She smiled and it was in equal measure patronizing and pitying. “This is a very good lie. He called you Nerevar. And the dream of the Nerevarine is very strong, and very dangerous—for you, and for all my people.”

            “So you don’t think it means anything?” Nibani shook her head firmly and Adanji sighed. She bit her lip while she thought over the questions she had already asked, and the ones she had yet to ask. “You mentioned other prophecies. What are ‘The Seven Curses’ and ‘The Curses’ Bane?’”

            “I am unsure about ‘The Curses’ Bane.’ Which curses? There are many. It seems likely that it has to do with ‘The Seven Curses’, but I do not know.” She sighed in frustration, possibly at her predecessors for not passing along all she needed to know. “‘The Seven Curses’ is another Ashlander prophecy of the Nerevarine. It is called ‘The Seven Curses of the Sharmat,’ but I do not know it, and I know no one who does. It may be lost.” Again, she sighed, and her voice was full of sorrow when she continued, “Such things happen. A wise woman dies, or forgets, or a clan is wiped out. Perhaps someone knows, but is keeping it secret. Perhaps it is in one of those many books of your settled peoples. I have heard that the Dissident priests of the Temple may have such books. Such written words never die. You must go to them and ask for these books, and bring what you find to me.”

            “I will,” Adanji promised. She was sure Caius would encourage her to do the same. “What about ‘The Seven Visions,’ are they lost?”

            Nibani smiled. “No. They are not. Would you hear them?”

            “Yes, please. I would like to know all you can tell me.”

            “It pleases me that you wish to learn; perhaps your ignorance can be cured?” Her eyes twinkled with amusement, “The full title of the prophecy is ‘Seven Visions of Seven Trials of the Incarnate.’ Listen and I will tell you the verses.” Adanji leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as Nibani spoke, “Seven trials: What he puts his hand to; that shall be done. What is left undone; that shall be done.

            “First trial,” She extended her index finger and drew a tally in the dirt, “On a certain day to uncertain parents, Incarnate moon and star reborn. Second trial,” Another tally was drawn, and another for each trial she spoke. “Neither blight nor age can harm him. The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies. Third trial: In caverns dark Azura’s eye sees and makes to shine the moon and star. Fourth trial: A stranger’s voice unites the Houses. Three Halls call him Hortator. Fifth trial: A stranger’s hand unites the Velothi. Four Tribes call him Nerevarine. Sixth trial: He honors blood of the tribe unmourned. He eats their sin, and is reborn. Seventh trial: His mercy frees the cursed false gods, binds the broken, redeems the mad.” She circled the seven tallies, “One destiny:  He speaks the law for Veloth’s people. He speaks for their land, and names them great.”

            “What does it all mean?” Adanji asked, perplexed, “I understand the first trial; it’s the same as the Stranger.” At this, Nibani nodded approvingly, “The second trial sounds like he’s immortal. Is that even possible? What about—”

            Nibani raised a hand to silence her, “The prophecy tells us who the Nerevarine will be, and the trials he must undergo before he fulfills his destiny. Some parts I understand. Some parts I do not. I shall explain what I can.

            “Like you, I’m not sure what the second trial means. Will the Nerevarine come as a spirit who is not harmed by blight or age? I don’t know. But I think Curse-of-Flesh means the blight disease corprus, which causes terrible, distorted growths on its victims. Perhaps the Nerevarine can heal this disease. Perhaps that will be a sign of the Nerevarine.

            “As for the third trial, in legend there is a shrine to Azura called the Cavern of the Incarnate. There are secrets I may not tell you about this cavern. Do not ask.” She smiled apologetically.

            “And the fourth trial? What’s a ‘Hortator’? I’ve heard the title before but I didn’t think to ask what it was.”

            “It is a war-leader chosen when Dunmer great houses must put aside their normal feuds to unite against a common enemy. This has not happened since the Empire invaded our land. There are five Great Houses in Morrowind. I do not know why only three must name him Hortator; perhaps it refers to the three Houses with the strongest presence in Vvardenfell?” She jerked her shoulders in a shrug. “The fifth trial mentions the Velothi; the Ashlanders are sometimes called the Velothi, for the prophet Veloth who guided us to this land many, many centuries ago. And the Four Tribes are the four tribes of Vvardenfell; the Urshilaku, the Ahemmusa, the Zainab, and the Erabenimsun. It would truly be a miracle to unite these four tribes who have so long raided and warred with one another. But the Nerevarine must be one who performs miracles.

            “I am unsure about the sixth trial. ‘The tribe unmourned’ may mean the Sixth House, House Dagoth, which was exterminated after the Battle of Red Mountain. But it may also mean the Dwemer, and ‘eating sin’ is doing atonement for another’s sin.” She made a face, her tone suddenly venomous as she continued, “‘The cursed false gods’ of the seventh trial must be the Tribunal. They are surely _false_ gods, evil sorcerers and necromancers, and they murdered Nerevar so they might set themselves up as gods.” She trembled for a moment in fury, and didn’t continue until she calmed herself, “‘Binds the broken’ must refer to Nerevar’s broken promise to the Ashlanders to honor the ways of the Spirits and rights of the Land.”

            “What’s the ‘one destiny’ mentioned at the end?”

            “Veloth’s people are _all_ Dunmeri—Ashlander and Great House alike. The last time the Velothi were united was with Nerevar at the Battle of Red Mountain. Now Nerevar will come once again and unite them. He will restore Morrowind to the Dunmeri, and restore the former greatness of the Velothi people.” Her voice—now raw from talking for so long—was full of both hope and certainty as she looked at some far-away place.

             “I’m guessing I don’t pass the test,” Adanji said, keeping the humor from her voice.

            “You are not the Nerevarine.” It was exactly the response she had expected. It was so obvious now she wasn’t the Nerevarine that it was almost funny. How could Caius have believed it? More curious still, how could Adanji? What puzzled her was her disappointment, even as Nibani answered, but what the wise woman said next shocked her. “You are one who may become the Nerevarine. It is a puzzle, and a hard one. But you have found some of the pieces, and you may find more.” Nibani leaned forward, her gaze filled with such intensity that it was hard not to look away, “Do you _choose_ to be the Nerevarine?”

            A long silence filled the space between them and it seemed to last an eternity. She wasn’t sure what she wanted beyond the life of kinship with her guild. The rest was a confused and apprehensive jumble. She knew what Caius wanted, and what the Emperor demanded. A small, nagging part of her told her that it was what she _needed_ to do. She didn’t like that part; she often shut it away, but now she found herself listening. She couldn’t, after all, have what she wanted if the Sixth House destroyed everything she loved. She simply nodded.

            Nibani leaned back, her expression softening, “Then seek the lost prophecies among the Dissident priests of the Temple. Find these prophecies, bring them to me, and I will be your guide. Now, I have told you all I know. Go. Think on what I’ve told you, and do what must be done.”

***

            Adanji had returned to Zabamund’s yurt, reflecting on all that she had learned. As soon as she sat down, she snatched up her satchel and withdrew a scroll and a quill, writing down everything Nibani had said. Satisfied, she hid the scroll at the bottom of her satchel, gathered all her things, and left, bidding Zabamund and Sul-Matuul farewell.

            Though it had seemed like half the day, she had only been in Nibani’s yurt for an hour, and she felt it was a good time to return to Caius. Her mind was buzzing so much that it took her a few hours wandering south before she remembered the Intervention scrolls Crulius, from Fort Moonmoth, had given her. Feeling a bit silly, she pulled one out, read it, and found herself an instant later in an unfamiliar Imperial shrine. After asking around, she found that she was in Fort Buckmoth, near Ald’Ruhn.

            She wanted to book transport with the silt strider or Mages Guild, but she had given the Urshilaku the last of the money she’d had with her as a gift. _Stupid…_ It had seemed like a good idea at the time—she had been more concerned with staying alive than with how she would pay for transportation, food, or a bed when she returned to civilization. At least she could stay at the Rat in the Pot for free, since she was a guild mate, though she had sworn she wouldn’t after the fiasco with the Dwemer spider. She sighed; there was nothing else for it. It would be a very bad idea to try and make the journey to Balmora on foot without at least getting some decent sleep first. She set off toward Ald’Ruhn’s south gate.

            The ground lurched beneath her feet and a sound like Nirn splitting in two nearly deafened her. Shadows engulfed the land as clouds blackened the sky and an acrid stench churned her stomach. With a jolt she looked up, wide eyes catching sight of Red Mountain; it was shuddering and belching up smoke, but that wasn’t what held her interest. Bright, wispy blue swirled in a violent maelstrom. It twisted and turned like boiling water. Then it shattered like a thousand shards of glass.     

            The Ghost Fence went dark.

            Adanji stared, mouth agape, her heart hammering in her chest. Somewhere in the distance someone screamed. The seconds oozed away like minutes. The wait was agonizing. An aftershock rolled under her feet and buffeted her fur, nearly causing her to topple over, but she barely noticed. Then, quite suddenly, as if it had never happened, the light flickered on again. The Ghost Fence resumed its activity, the cerulean mist floating around in an eerie calm, Red Mountain silenced. She let out her breath in a slow hiss through her teeth. She hadn’t even realized she had been holding it.

            What could have gotten out in those few precious moments? That wasn’t even the most disturbing question on her mind. Why had the Ghost Fence gone down in the first place? Hadn’t it been running smoothly, endlessly, since it had first been constructed millennia ago? There were only two answers, and neither was appealing. The Tribunal was weakening, or Dagoth Ur was growing stronger.

            Cold dread settled in her heart.

            As she wandered through Ald’Ruhn she heard snippets of fearful conversation.

            “The Ghost Fence—did you see it?”

            “How could you not?”

            “What happened? How is this possible?!”

            “Is Vivec getting weak?”

            “That’s heresy!”

            “But it’s the only explanation!”

            The thoughts of strangers mirrored her own, even as arguments broke out. She pushed past a crowd that had gathered where such a disagreement came to blows, instinctively ducking her head as the guards ran past. She hadn’t even been fully aware of where her feet were taking her until she entered the Rat in the Pot and plopped heavily into a seat. Her head was spinning.

            _Can’t have a normal day, can I? Not even just one._

            “Khajiit. You have returned.” She peered up through her fingers and saw Tongue-Toad standing there. “You look troubled.”

            “Well it looks like the world’s ending, so you could say that.”

            “Nnn, yes. The Dunmeri do act as if the world is coming to an end when the Ghost Fence is unstable. It caused quite the panic a few years back, but it is nothing new; nothing for us to worry over. Come, have a drink.”

            The Ghost Fence had been unstable in the past? Adanji hadn’t heard of that. Still, it didn’t offer her much comfort, given everything else that had been going on around her. She let Tongue-Toad guide her to the bar. The publican, who had gotten a great deal of business from the Thieves Guild, had taken pity on them and started offering free drinks to its members since the Camonna Tong had begun its assaults. Adanji sat down with a hot mazte that helped chase away the cold and, for the time being, her more disturbing thoughts.

            Her worries came rushing right back at the Argonian’s next words, though. “The Balmora Guild was attacked again,” he said quietly, mid-way through their second round of drinks.

            Adanji nearly spit out her mazte. “No one was hurt, were they?!”

            “No. Everyone’s fine,” he said, though his expression was grim, “But there’s worry the Camonna Tong’s just playing with us. If that’s the case, I’m afraid we won’t survive when they get serious.”

            “Why would they do that—play with us, I mean?”

            “Because they can. They like mocking their victims. Heard Jim’s been laying low, changing up his hideouts. No idea where he is right now, but Aengoth didn’t see him on his last trip to Vivec.”

            _Hope he hasn’t been captured._ “Thanks for the news.”

            “Mhmm.”

            “Would you mind doing me a favor?”

            “That depends; what is it?”

            “I was going to stay here for the evening because I can’t afford a strider or teleportation, but now I want to get to Balmora and talk to Habasi. Can you loan me some coin?”

            He gawked, “You know thieves aren’t known for generosity, and transportation has been getting expensive. Maybe if you were a friend…”

            Adanji frowned. She was so used to the family bond she had felt with most of the guild that she hadn’t expected this.

            “It looks like your pack there is full of goods, though. I would be happy to buy some off of you.”

            Adanji agreed and rifled through her satchel, pulling out anything she didn’t need. When she was done, all she had left were a few healing potions, the scrolls she had written her notes on, and the invisibility potion Habasi had given her; the other potions, scrolls, and the dried food had been sold to Tongue-Toad. “Thanks for your business. We haven’t had many jobs lately, so you will understand my hesitation to just give you coin, yes?”

            She nodded. Now that she had money, she ran to the Mages Guild; some of the chaos had died down on the streets, but there was still an air of fear and agitation hovering about the place.  Once in Balmora, she was torn about where to go next. Habasi might need her, but Caius would be awaiting her report. Both might be worried. She sighed, gripping the notes she had written. Just for now, South Wall could wait. Tongue-Toad had explicitly said no one was hurt, and much as Adanji wanted to see for herself, the way things were going her immediate duties with the Blades seemed more urgent.

            Something had to be done about the Ghost Fence, and Caius might know what that something was.

***

            “Ah! You’re back.” Caius looked like he had been pacing in his room, wringing his hands anxiously when he looked up at the sound of Adanji’s entrance. “What news do you have for me? Given the state of the Ghost Fence, I’m hoping it’s something good.”

            “I was wondering if you’d have heard of that,” she said breathlessly, crossing over to his bed and flinging herself into it—she had run all the way here from the Mages Guild and her feet were sore from her journey. “Someone told me it went down a few years ago and it wasn’t so bad. I take it I was misinformed?”

            Caius quirked a brow at her and seated himself at her feet, resting his ankle on his knee, “Around ten years ago the fence faded a bit, yes, and it wavered like that for a few days. There was panic, especially at the Temple, and a few creatures escaped, but there was nothing serious. It was working again, strong as ever, after that. The Fence has never actually gone down until today, and from what Nine-Toes tells me, it’s still unstable.”

            Adanji sat bolt upright at that, her ears erect. It was exactly what she had been afraid of, then, and the fear behind Caius’ eyes confirmed it. “Is the Tribunal weakening, or is Dagoth Ur just getting stronger? How many corprus beasts could have escaped, do you think? It was down a few minutes—how quickly could the disease spread? Is there a cure?”

            “All very astute questions,” he said patiently, “You’ve turned out to be quite a bright one.”

            She felt her cheeks warm, “Either you need to work on your sarcasm, or you just fed me a genuine compliment.”

            “Save the humor for later,” he snapped, suddenly back to business, “Right now I need to know where we stand on the prophecies.”

            “Right—sorry. Sir.” She cleared her throat, feeling self-conscious and wishing she hadn’t ruined the moment, “I’m not the Nerevarine.”

            Caius’ face fell and for a moment it looked like he wanted to throw a book through the wall. “What?”

            “Er—what I meant to say was, I’m not the Nerevarine—but I could become him—or, _her_ —apparently. That’s what Nibani said.”

            He leaned forward, and Adanji found herself nervous under the intensity of his gaze, just as she had with Nibani earlier that morning. Had it really only been a day? “Tell me everything, from the beginning.”

            Adanji drew her feet under her, downed the last of her water from her flask, and recounted everything she had gone through over the past three weeks to Caius. “She said to bring her any information I could on the lost prophecies. She thinks the Dissident Priests would have them but, for obvious reasons, they’re very well hidden.” She handed him the scroll she had written all her notes on and waited silently as he read them through three full times. Suddenly, he beamed, all trace of his earlier fears gone. That alone filled her with relief.

            “From what they say, it sounds like you could really be the Nerevarine. That's just incredible! But I'll have to get used to the idea…” He stroked his chin thoughtfully, “Let me try to get word to Mehra Milo. Maybe she can find out whether the Dissident Priests have any lost prophecies.”

            “What about the Ghost Fence and Corprus? Is there anything we can do about that?”

            “I’ve already done all I can for it. I’ve sent feelers out to assess the damage; see how many beasts might have escaped, listen out for new cases of Corprus. While Nine-Toes and Rithleen are busy with that, I have Elone keeping an ear to the ground for any hint of a cure; someone, somewhere, has to be working on it. In the meantime, I’ll send the others to sniff out information on the whereabouts of the Dissident Priests, incase Merhar Milo can’t give me anything on it. I’d like you to keep an ear open, too, and if you find anything, report to me immediately. If not, just wait for me to contact you, alright?”

            She nodded. For what had to be the hundredth time, she felt a thrill of fear mingled with excitement. Caius was happy with her—perhaps even proud of her, and that was nice. She was beginning to warm up to the idea of being part of something bigger than herself, though she was still terrified of the implications. “I have to go see Habasi, now,” she said faintly, “I’m sure she’ll want to know what I’ve been up to.” Caius made a face, “Don’t’ worry, obviously I won’t tell her anything.”

            “She’s actually been by here.”

            Adanji stared. “She has?”

            He shook his head, “It’s nothing for you to worry about. I don’t know if she’ll bring it up or not, just don’t be surprised if she does.”

            “You’re not... having her killed, or anything?” She didn’t want him to, of course, but she found it surprising. She also found it surprising that the Mastermind would take such a bold and risky move; she was usually more cautious than that.

            “I’ve thought about it. For now I’d just like to keep an eye on her—she hasn’t made a move against us, so far, and it seems like she’s known about us for a while. She’s had plenty of opportunity.” He smiled, “Seems to me, she was only interested in you.”

            _That could be a good thing, or a bad thing,_ Adanji thought. Hoping it was the former, she said goodbye, ducked out of Caius’ house and made her way to South Wall.

 

***

            It didn’t look so bad on the outside, and when she entered the place she was happy to find that, aside from a few new battle scars on the walls and some of the furniture, it was still the place she had come to call home. The same patrons and guild mates sat around the bar and at various tables—they had even started gambling again, setting up rigged games of shells and nine-holes, and men whistled appreciatively at the dancing girls, who had their old vigor back. The place was much cheerier than she’d last seen it. She smiled. Just as she set off to search for Habasi, a blurred shape hit her hard in the side and tackled her to the ground.

            Panicked, she struggled to roll onto her back, clawing frantically at the dark figure.

            “Whoa!” It darted to the side, barely managing to avoid her swipe. “Calm down, fur-ball, it’s me!” She instantly recognized the voice of Arathor and felt incredibly silly.

            “Sorry…”

            “Come on!” He picked her up and then instantly enveloped her in a tight hug. She grinned, realizing just how much she had missed the elf. “Where have you _been?_ I’ve been worried sick about you! Oh, hey, did you pierce your ears? That’s new—”

            “Yes. Where _have_ you been?” a voice said icily. Adanji looked up to see Hecerinde glaring at her with piercing eyes.

            “Oh, it’s you. What are you doing here? I thought Habasi made you leave?”

            “I came back when the guild was being attacked. Seems a bit curious that _you_ didn’t, since Habasi claims you’ve been on an important mission for her. Seems to me she would have called you back here to help.”

            _She’s still covering for me, then?_ That was a relief. “If you can’t trust your own Mastermind, that’s your problem,” she snapped, “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

            Even as Hercerinde glared and sauntered away, muttering to himself, Adanji noticed several people eyeing her. Their expressions ranged from harmless curiosity to outright suspicion. Phane, of course, expressed the latter.

            “So, um, yeah.” Arathor finally pulled away from her, “I’d like to know what you’ve been up to, as well. I mean—I trust you, and Habasi, too, it’s just…”

            “I’ve been on a job from Habasi, like she said.” She pushed past him, toward the bar, hoping it would look like she was merely after a drink and Arathor would stop asking her questions.

            He grabbed her suddenly and whirled her to face him, “I’m not stupid, you know! You and Habasi may treat me like it, but I’m not.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “I’ve seen Habasi pacing when she thinks no one’s looking. If she had correspondence from you, she wouldn’t have any reason to worry. So what are you doing that she needs to cover for?”

            Adanji frowned. She felt guilty enough keeping secrets from her guild—it was worse keeping them from her friend. “Can you keep a secret?” She nodded toward the back of the pub and they made their way toward the hideout.

            “Adanji, I’m the only person here who hasn’t been outed as a thief. Sure, I’ve been arrested a few times, but only for starting brawls.”

            “You told me Habasi was a slave, I doubt she wanted me to learn that way.”

            “Pfft—that was hardly a secret.” He opened the hatch and Adanji dropped in, looking around to ensure nobody else was there as Arathor came in behind her. “Anyway, I’ve kept a lot of secrets for people. The only person I would tell is Habasi, and I have a feeling she already knows. Why else would she cover for you?”

            Adanji turned to him and looked him up and down. As long as she wasn’t sure where she stood with Habasi—however worried the Mastermind might have been about her—she wanted someone here she could confide in. She bit her lip. Caius would kill her if he found out. He might kill Arathor, too. “You have to promise, ok? If I tell you, we’ll both be in danger.”

            His eyes grew wide and a little mischievous grin crossed his face. “Sounds exciting. So what is it?”

            “I… I’m with the Blades, ok?” Maybe it would be fine, so long as she didn’t tell him about anyone else. “I’ve been running errands for them ever since I got here. That’s why—”

            “Wait-wait-wait, let me get this straight… you’re a spy?”

            Adanji nodded.

            “One of the Emperor’s personal spies. Going around saving Tamriel from evil.”

            “Not so glamorous as that, I’m sure—”

            He broke down laughing and it took him a while to recover, “You—that—that’s a good one!” He cleared his throat, “You really had me going, there. So—so what’s really been going on?”

            Adanji frowned. “I just told you.”

            “Really.”

            “I’m with the Blades, Arathor. That’s not a lie I would make up.”

            “You know what? Fine!” he snapped, throwing his arms up in the air, “Don’t tell me! I thought we were friends, but I guess we’re not.”

            “Wait—”

            “Don’t worry! I won’t tell anyone your big ‘secret,’ it would just make me look stupid!”

            Adanji gaped, dumbfounded, as he turned and marched away. “Fine, don’t believe me,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and making her way back up the ladder to find Habasi. _Stupid elf._ She supposed it was for the best, and perhaps she deserved it for all the lies she had told him in the first place, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. She wondered if, by the time she completed her duties to the Empire—supposing she didn’t die somewhere along the way—she would have any friends left at all. At this rate, she doubted it.


	13. Of Warriors and Thieves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adanji proves herself to Habasi and helps make peace with the Fighter's Guild.

**Chapter Twelve**

Of Warriors and Thieves

 

            Habasi looked up from her desk as Adanji slid the false wall shut behind her. “Adanji…” She stood and crossed the short distance, looking Adanji up and down, and then clapped her fondly on the shoulder, a tiny smile gracing her lips. “Habasi was worried about you.”

            “You were?” She wasn’t entirely sure she believed it at this point—Habasi had proven to be a good actress in the past.

            Habasi looked hurt by her skepticism and she immediately felt guilty. “You were gone a very long time. Knowing the savagery of those Ashlanders…” she trailed off with a grimace. Adanji suddenly wanted to hug her. She wanted to thank her for all the training that had probably saved her life. She wanted to tell her how much she appreciated the invisibility potion that she ultimately hadn’t needed, but was keeping in case of emergency. Instead she stood there like an idiot, debating what was really in the Mastermind’s head.

            “This is the one you were talking about, then?” A voice said behind Adanji in a baritone. She whirled and saw a Redguard materializing from the shadows. He had a pleasant face—wrinkles that suggested he was used to smiling, crinkles around his eyes indicating he was often deep in thought, making him look wise. His graying hair was pulled back into a short, frizzy ponytail and he was wearing an exquisite, navy blue shirt with a ruffled collar.  

            “Who are you?”

            “That’s Gentleman Jim Stacey,” Habasi said, “No one else knows he’s here.”

            “And you’re trusting me with the information?” Adanji asked incredulously.

            “This one has decided she already knows your secrets, and Caius has assured her you are not snooping on us.” Caius had warned her that Habasi had been to see him; she wondered what he had said to get Habasi to believe him.

            “Great,” Adanji shook her head, “So he knows about Caius, too?”

            Habasi hesitated and then nodded. “He wouldn’t tell anyone—your secret is safe with us.”

            “I appreciate that,” Adanji said. The tension was still there and she hated it. She wanted to go back to the easy trust she had shared with Habasi before the Camonna Tong had ever attacked. “So, what’s going on? I assume Gentleman Jim wouldn’t just show himself to me for no apparent reason?”

            “Habasi has already been lying to the Guild, telling them you were on secret missions for her. Now, we want to make that a reality,” Jim said. “It makes sense, given your current position. Your disappearances can actually have a proper explanation, now, and we don’t have to keep lying to the Guild—at least not entirely.”

            “This one would prefer to have their trust.”

            “Ah…” Adanji looked between the two, mind reeling. It did make sense, but she was a bit afraid of the implications. They were only trusting her because they had to, and now she would have to trust them because they knew her secrets. Unless Habasi really was willing to trust her again, just out of amity? Would that be too much to hope for? “Alright. So what do you need me to do?”

            “Before we tell you,” Jim said before Habasi could open her mouth, “Let me just say we don’t want you to feel in any way trapped.”

            She crossed her arms, “You don’t?”

            “The Blades are dangerous, Adanji. Do you really think we would risk the Guild by letting your secret out?” Habasi said, “This is simply a convenient cover, for all of us. Habasi is tired of lying for you, but she will not tell anyone about the Blades—she promised. This is just your chance to prove _your_ loyalty to _us_. You may accept or decline the offer once you hear us out. You will suffer no ill if you decline, and we will simply find someone else to help.”

            Adanji glanced at Jim, who nodded, and then back at Habasi, who was staring at her earnestly. She so wanted this to be true—she wanted to be their family again. Lately she had just been feeling like everyone’s tool. If there was any chance at all she could get back her feeling of familiarity and friendship with Habasi, she would take it. “Alright.”

            “Good. We’ve been poking around, keeping an eye on the Fighter’s Guild and House Hlaalu. We’ve found where they’re connected to the Camonna Tong and we’d like to loosen their bonds a bit.” Jim said, leaning back on Habasi’s desk.

            “I’m not killing anyone,” Adanji began, feeling that unease again. Gentleman Jim guffawed.

            “We’re not asking you to. We’re thieves, not murderers, remember?” That was a relief. She knew they generally weren’t killers, but she had no idea how far they would go to protect themselves from the Camonna Tong. Caius himself had told her that rule could be broken in the ensuing struggle. “We just want you to talk to some people for us—see if you can convince them to cut ties with the Camonna Tong.”

            “Oh.” That sounded simple enough, assuming they could give her proper leverage, “Yes, I can do that. Who do I need to talk to?”

            “That’s the spirit!” Jim wrote something down on an envelope. “Percius Mercius, over at the Ald’Ruhn Fighters Guild, is a good and honorable man. He used to run things, there, before the Camonna Tong moved in. Talk to him; he’ll know all of his associates best and he can tell you how you might get their help peacefully. If he doesn’t want to talk, give him that package. It might change his mind.”

            “Alright,” Adanji yawned, slipping the paper in her pocket, “I’ll get right to it.”

            “You may wish to get some rest, first,” Habasi suggested, much to Adanji’s relief. She shot the Mastermind a look of gratitude, and made her way back down to the hideout, just catching Jim melting once more into shadow as she left.

 

***

             Adanji smiled to herself as she lay back in bed. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad, after all? Maybe if she just kept her head down, gave Habasi a friendly acknowledgement when they passed by each other, and did her new jobs as they came, she and Habasi could be friends again? She could certainly use someone to confide in. Her thoughts drifted to Arathor and she sighed, her face falling. She hoped he would come around, too, and that telling him she was in the Blades wouldn’t come back to bite her, somehow.

            She rolled over and finally went to sleep.

 

_Adanji sat in the middle of a room. She wasn’t sure how large it was. The way the shadows fell, it seemed like it could stretch on for eternity. The only piece of furniture in the room was a mirror. Adanji stared at her mirror-self, noting the new, wiry muscles she had begun to develop, the green eyes that seemed a little brighter, and the gray, spotted fur that seemed a little fuller. An intense, steely glint was in its eyes. It looked so much more confident than she ever could be._

_Suddenly, it moved, though she had been standing perfectly still. It grinned at her widely. Its eyes turned black and hollow. It reached up slowly, gripping its face. It pulled, ripping up the flesh. Muscle and sinew squelched in protest as it separated from bone, blood pooling beneath its feet as the thing skinned itself alive. The creature it left behind huddled on the ground, shaking with laughter—or tears. When it looked up at Adanji, she saw its mutated face, its lumpy gray skin, and its eyeless sockets. She cried out in shock, smashing the mirror into a thousand pieces, but when she drew her hands back they were fat, bald, and blistered, pus seeping out of the cracks. Her screams were that of an anguished monster as the darkness crashed over her, swallowing her like the sea._

 

            Adanji woke with a start as she fell to the floor. Looking up, she saw that she had rolled out of her bunk. She rubbed at her bruises, noting vaguely the fur that was still there and there were no boils. She shuddered as she recalled the dream. _At least Dagoth Ur didn’t talk to me,_ she thought. It wasn’t a huge comfort, though, and she had to wonder if it meant she would be getting corprus, or if the devil was simply taunting her. _‘The curse of flesh before him flies…’_ She felt ill as the words rang through her mind.

            She wondered what time it was, and then decided she didn’t care; she was going back to bed. She was tired, and would get her sleep no matter how many dreams Dagoth Ur saw fit to send her. _They’re lies, anyway,_ she thought firmly, _Nibani said it herself._

 

***

            There seemed to be more guards wandering the streets of Ald’Ruhn. Volunteers were running to and fro, gathering materials to shore up the defenses; makeshift wooden barriers and piles of stone filled the gaps in the walls. It seemed they were preparing for an invasion, and those who weren’t helping were crowded around the silt strider, hoping for transportation out of the city. Given what had happened to Ghost Fence that probably wasn’t a bad idea. She glanced up at the swirling blue magicka field; it looked strong, for the moment, but how long would that last? _Best not to worry about that now,_ she thought _._ The Blades were already doing what little they could and she had work to do.

            She hadn’t been in the Ald’Ruhn Fighters Guildhall before. She asked around and found Percius tucked away in a small, cramped office downstairs—likely a place where they had put him so he wouldn’t ‘cause trouble.’ He was a tired-looking, middle-aged Imperial, who looked a bit too stressed for a man of his station. Adanji assumed it must be the strain of being the only decent person in his guildhall.

            “Percius?” she asked as she approached.

            “That’s me.  If you’re here to join the guild or get work, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong man. I’m no longer in charge around here,” he said bitterly.

            “No, it’s not about that. I came to ask for help.” She glanced around to ensure they were really alone and shut the door behind her with a soft click.

            He looked up at her sharply. “Ah, you’ve the build of a thief. You part of their ‘guild?’ Why should I help you?”

            “Because if you don’t, the Camonna Tong will wipe us out,” Adanji said; she had rehearsed the lines over and over in her head on the way here, hoping to make a compelling argument, “I’m sure you know their reputation; they’re brutal thugs who are as willing to kill and torture as steal from you, and they smuggle slaves and skooma. We’re not like that—we don’t target the poor or the weak, and we don’t do slavery.”

            “And how do I know you won’t become just like them if they’re removed? Without competition, with unlimited power, you could do anything.”

            “We’re run by an honorable and decent man. He told me to give you this, as a gesture of goodwill.” She handed him the slightly bulging envelope Gentleman Jim had given her. He ripped it open and dumped its contents into his hand. His expression suddenly softened as he flipped open the little locket and held it up to the light.

            “Irina…” He made a small choking noise, “How did you get this?”

            Adanji shrugged, though she was curious, too, “We have our ways.”

            “This was taken from my family years ago. Stolen by the Camonna Tong, along with my daughter’s life. I never thought I’d get it back. Thank you.” Her heart warmed. She found herself liking Gentleman Jim, and starting to believe what she had said about him—what Habasi and Arathor had told her about him— might just be true.

            “Does this mean you’ll help us?”

            He pondered for a moment, turning the locket over in his hands a few times, then clasped it around his neck and let it dangle under his shirt. “I’ll do what I can.” He took a slip of paper and wrote down names on it, handing it to Adanji and telling her to keep it hidden. He then gave detailed descriptions of everyone on the list, telling Adanji how she might win them over to her cause, or at least turn them against the Tong. “Sjoring Hard-Heart is too far in debt to the Camonna Tong. He won’t be convinced to turn on them—or at least I highly doubt he will. It’s likely you’ll have to kill him.”

            Adanji frowned at that, matching Percius’ tentative expression. She had hoped they could avoid going down that road. Could she kill to protect her guild? She already had, she thought, when South Wall had been raided. But that man had attacked her; she had killed him in self-defense. What Percius was talking about was murder. “You’re sure about that?” He nodded. _Right. Of course you are._ “Thanks for the information.”

            “Any time. Oh, there is one more thing. I have it on good authority that one of your thieves—Tongue-Toad, I think the name was—is being targeted by Lorbumol gro-Aglakh, from our branch in Vivec. I don’t know the specifics, but you may want to warn your friend to get out of Vvardenfell.”

            She thanked him yet again and left, running over the information in her mind a few times so she could remember what to tell Jim. Tongue-Toad, at least, was in Ald’Ruhn, so warning him before returning to Balmora would be simple enough.

 

***

            Tongue-Toad was easy to find. He was in the basement of The Rat in the Pot, playing a game of darts with a surly-looking Nord. “Khajiit,” he said as she approached. He threw the dart he was aiming and it hit the board almost dead-center. The Nord cursed. “You’re back. Can this one be of assistance?”

            “I need to talk to you alone.”

            “Nnn…” He shrugged, “Fine, as it appears I’ll get no sport beating Allding for the tenth time in a row.”

            “Ninth! And I swear, you be cheating.”

            “At darts? How do you figure that, nnn?”

            “Hmmph,” Allding crossed his arms, “Away with yeh. I’ll beat you next round, you mark me.”

            “This one finds it doubtful,” Tongue-Toad scoffed, a playful glint in his eye. “Alright, alright, Khajiit, what do you want?” He gestured toward a small room in the back and Adanji followed him. They passed one of the Dwemer spiders as it patrolled the room and Adanji was careful to give it a wide berth.

            “Someone wants you dead,” she said, once they were alone.

            “Ha! This is hardly a surprise. We are Thieves Guild. The whole Camonna Tong wants us _all_ dead.”

            Adanji shook her head, “I mean someone named Lorbumol, from the Fighters Guild, wants _you_ dead, specifically. He has a hit out on you, and from what I hear, the bounty is high. What did you do to rattle his cage?”

            “Ah…” He scratched at the frill on the back of his neck, “Plenty of things, I’d wager. I wanted people to know just how bad the Fighters Guild was getting—they’re little more than hired thugs, these days, not the warriors of honor they proclaim to be. So I made leaflets, yes? And handed them out to, oh, say, a hundred people, more or less? Lorbumol is an easy target; his barbarism is well known, so his face is the one printed on these fliers. Word gets around quickly, and I guess that was the last straw.”

            “Well I can see why he’s upset,” she said with a wry smile. “I suppose this was to help our cause?”

            He nodded eagerly. “The fewer friends the Fighters have, the fewer allies to the Camonna Tong, and the fewer people they’ll have trying to kill us. That was my reasoning, at least.”

            “Well, in any case, I think you should lie low. Maybe leave Morrowind, if you can.”

            “This one would rather stay. The guild needs my services, especially now.”

            “Then maybe find somewhere to hide?” she suggested, “Stay in a different guild hall for a while?” South Wall had been feeling empty without Chirranirr or Sottilde livening things up, but she kept that thought to herself. She wasn’t sure if Habasi would accept a walking target drawing attention to South Wall, especially with Gentleman Jim there.

            “Nnn… yes. Maybe Big Helende will have work for me? She’s paranoid enough, most people don’t want to mess with her—I hear she’s even hired the services of a powerful battlemage to defend Dirty Muriel’s. I could do well under her protection…” He trailed off, scratching his scales again. “Yes, this should work. Thank you very much for the information.” He sighed heavily, “Unfortunately, nobody will be around to temper Allding’s inflated ego with me gone.”

            Adanji humored him with a smile and they walked to the Mages Guild together, both taking the Guild Guide to a different destination; Tongue-Toad had decided it would be best for everyone if he told as few people as possible where he was going.

 

***

            Almost a week had gone by since her trip to Ald’Ruhn. She had given Jim and Habasi all the information she had gleaned from Percius, and they had set to work planning what they could do with it. She had been given a small sum of money, and Habasi had promised she would get more as soon as the Guild could afford it. The Mastermind had markedly warmed toward Adanji, and at times she could almost see sparks of their old camaraderie surfacing. Arathor, on the other hand, still wasn’t speaking to her.

            She wanted to tell him her birthday was coming up in just over a week; that on the 12th of Evening Star she would be nineteen. A few weeks after, it would be Saturalia—the New Life festival. She wasn’t even sure the Dunmeri held celebrations for it. She wanted to invite the Bosmer out for drinks to celebrate either one—she would invite Habasi, too, were she not so busy. The Mastermind had been gone for four whole days, and had only just returned, exhausted, last night. The idea of asking Caius to celebrate with her was laughable; nice as it could be, she was sure he had important duties to tend to.

            It looked like, for the first time in her life, Adanji’s birthday would be a lonely one. She reminisced about her last celebration, when she and Swims had gotten so drunk they could barely walk. They had stolen some Surilie Brothers’ wine from some noble’s cellar, downed nearly a bottle each and made lewd snow sculptures outside the Imperial Palace. They had been exceedingly lucky they hadn’t gotten caught.

            Now she wondered if the Blades somehow knew she had been involved in that scandal. _Probably not._ The Blades were a serious lot, and treason was a grave matter. While she hardly thought a few sculptures of erect cocks that would have melted within days, had they not been destroyed first, could hardly be called vandalism, let alone treason, the Emperor’s bodyguards might disagree.

            It would be great fun—assuming they didn’t get caught—to make similar sculptures out of ash and debris to salute the Camonna Tong Council Club with Arathor. She could make it a tradition. She sighed, turning her bottle of mazte left and right. She didn’t feel much like finishing it, now.

            “Adanji,” Habasi said, drawing her from her thoughts, “Come to my office.”

            As soon as she entered, the door closing behind them, Jim seemed to pop up out of nowhere. Adanji wished she had skill in magic, so she could turn herself invisible. She did have to wonder, though, how even with that ability Jim had kept his presence a secret for so long. Where did he sleep? When did he eat? She nodded to him in acknowledgement. “You have work for me?”

            “Yes.” Jim pulled a strange-looking, ornate golden object with Daedric designs imprinted around its base from Habasi’s desk drawer. “Know what this is?”

            “Something you drink out of?” she quipped. Of course it looked like it might be more significant than that, but she hadn’t heard of any mystical goblets of legend.

            “Perhaps for the brave, or the very foolish,” Habasi said with a shiver. “You told us Eydis Fire-Eye could not be bought easily, but worships Clavicus Vile.”

            “Yeah, and I didn’t know how that was supposed to help us. I guess this is the answer?” She picked up the goblet and admired the unusually dazzling light reflecting off its surface.

            “It is indeed. That’s the Bitter Cup—one of Vile’s relics. It could turn a strong, but stupid man into a smart but weak one, if the stories are true,” Jim said. Adanji immediately felt like dropping the relic. The Daedric Prince was vile, indeed, and could always be trusted to twist the words of any oath he made, leaving those who dealt with him in a rotten state.  
            “This one went to great lengths to obtain it.” Habasi said, “Don’t worry—she made no deals with the Prince,” she added, as if reading Adanji’s mind. “Unfortunately, Habasi is known as a prominent thief and may be killed on sight if she shows her face to Fire-Eye. This is why she would like you to deliver it to the master-at-arms. It will be sacred to her, and she may join our cause just to get her hands on it.”

            “I can do that,” Adanji said.

            “Just one thing,” Habasi added, “The Cup is obviously enchanted. It will fill on its own so it cannot spill, but do not drink from it; do so and, according to legend, it will vanish until the next Era—”

            “—And then we won’t have a bargaining chip,” Adanji finished for her. Habasi nodded. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want anything to do with Vile anyway.”

 

***

            Adanji appreciated the lull in her current job requirements; talking to people and making deals felt nicely mundane compared to her work for Caius, which usually led her to dark places surrounded by things that wanted her dead. She had the Bitter Cup stashed safely in her pack, hidden under her scarf, as she made her way to the Balmora Fighers Guildhall. She was nervous about going into a pit of vipers, especially if she was meant to handle the most venomous of them, but she reminded herself that she had held her ground against an Ashkhan. With luck, she would be fine.

            “Adanji?” she heard a familiar voice say as she entered.

            “Hasphat! It’s been a while. How are you?”

            “You shouldn’t be here, you know,” he said quietly, “You know our guilds are at odds, don’t you? They might kill you if they see you.”

            “Only if they know who I am. You didn’t tell them anything about me, did you?” Adanji smiled, pretending not to be bothered by the possible danger.

            He shook his head, “No, of course not! You’re one of Caius’ associates. He’d have my head.”

            “Good. Where can I find Eydis? I have a proposition for her.”

            “She’s upstairs. If you’re planning on talking peace, I strongly advise against it. She won’t be swayed.”

            “Not even for an artifact from her favorite Daedra?” She tilted her pack, pulling the scarf back just enough for the cup to glint in the light, then hid it just as quickly.

            “What—how did you know—that’s supposed to be a secret!”

            “Then it’s not a very well-guarded one.”

            He sighed, deflated. “Alright, you want to talk, I’m going with you.” With that he led her upstairs, to Fire-Eye’s quarters. He knocked softly and, after a brief argument, managed to get her, Adanji, and himself alone in the room. Adanji was glad he had come with her as he explained the situation to the Nord; the woman had quite a chip on her shoulder.

            “Alright, Khajiit. You have one minute to plead your case and if I don’t like it, you’re going back to your guild as a fancy rug, got it?”

            “I have a gift for you,” Adanji said, wasting no time, “But you have to swear, on your honor, that if I give it to you, you’ll stop helping the Camonna Tong. You have to promise to help us, instead.”

            Fire-Eye was on her feet in an instant, her hand on her sword, “And what ‘gift’ could possibly be worth breaking my oath to the Camonna Tong?”

            Adanji pulled the cup from her pack and held it out, her heart hammering. “The Bitter Cup. I hear it’s sacred.” She backed up a pace and tilted the cup toward her lips when Eydis stepped menacingly toward her, gripping the hilt of her blade. “I wonder if I should drink from it?” She worked to keep the fear from her voice, though her fingers trembled, “I hear it could make me very powerful.” The cup slowly started filling with thick, amber liquid as she spoke, “I also hear that as soon as my lips touch the nectar, the Cup will be gone from this world. You wouldn’t want that, would you?” To her relief, it looked like Eydis was backing down. “Just join our cause and it will be yours.”

            “Fine!” Eydis snapped, lowering her blade and reaching out desperately with her fee hand, “I swear, on my honor, and by Clavicus Vile himself, in the presence of my second, that we’ll help the Thieves Guild! Are you happy, now?”

            “Very.” Adanji said, holding out her hand, “If you shake on it.”

            Eydis glowered, but took Adanji’s hand nonetheless. “We have a deal. Now hand it over.”

            Adanji gently passed Eydis the goblet and watched as she examined it closely, the Nord’s mouth hanging open in awe of the thing. She was happy that it had worked out so well; for a moment she was afraid she would have to fight her way out, and if she were faced with a guild full of mercenaries, she doubted she would survive. Not wishing to overstay her welcome, she bowed out, leaving Hasphat and Fire-Eye to discuss their plans against the Tong.

            As she left, she felt it again; that giddy sense of pride she had felt upon slaying two revenants at the Urshilaku burial caverns.

***

            Adanji walked through the streets of Labor Town at a leisurely stroll, enjoying the sights and smells of winter. She felt at peace for the first time in ages and was happy to have good news for Habasi. Maybe the Mastermind would even be up for celebrating? A round of drinks on the house should liven things up, a bit. Hecerinde might try to ruin things, but she didn’t much care about him. Nothing would dampen her spirits, today!

            A scream pierced the air, muffled by distance. _Except that, perhaps,_ she thought. _It’s probably just another Sixth House attack._ She sighed, slowing to look over her shoulder, _Or the Camonna Tong, trying to scare away outlanders._ She wished she were braver, or stronger, and could do something to help. But such raids usually consisted of five or more people; what good was she alone against such numbers? Taunting Eydis into an alliance had been one thing—had been for the good of her family—but she didn’t want to needlessly put herself in danger, if she could help it.

            Another scream cut into the silence, joined shortly by an all-out chorus and the sound of storage crates beingsmashed and a hair-raising howl of rage. _No…maybe it’s not the Camonna Tong…_ She stopped for a moment, ears straining. The sound of something else crunching convinced her to keep moving. She gripped her short sword as the sounds drew closer, glancing over her shoulder as she pulled the blade from its sheath. If she could at least see what the commotion was, she could go see Caius and tell him about it—he would probably want to know, after all. What she saw rooted her to the spot. 

            A hideous beast had burst from an alleyway, slamming a young Breton woman to the ground. It reared its huge, stumpy arm as if to crush her, but then it froze, sniffing the air. It looked up, locking eyes with Adanji, and forgot its prey altogether. It had found a new target. Adanji tensed, shifting her weight to her toes, her tail lashing involuntarily. This creature looked almost as terrifying as the one she’d seen at the Andrano Tomb. It leapt from its perch atop the poor woman and sprinted on all fours in a straight line toward Adanji, impossibly fast for its bloated size.

            There was no way she could fight such a monster. Adanji darted down an alleyway, hoping she might find a nook too narrow for the creature to squeeze through as it gave chase. The whole time she berated herself for not simply running to South Wall at the first signs of trouble. It kept hot on her tail as she sped through the streets to the west, where most of the guards were concentrated. _They may hate outlanders around here, but at least the guards should kill a monster when they see one!_ Adanji jumped clean over a stack of crates and heard them crunching behind her as the beast trampled right on through. She stumbled, rolled on her back, and pointed her blade up.

            The creature didn’t even make it to her. Just as it had pounced to make the killing blow, it fell, crashing just inches to Adanji’s right, arrows poking out of its flesh. She sat up, dazed, and saw three guards clad in bonemold armor approaching, fresh arrows knocked in their bows.

            “A corprus beast?” one of them said in alarm.

            “Can’t be. They’re all trapped behind Ghost Fence. Or should be...”

            “Well we all saw the Fence go down, not long ago, maybe it got out then?”

            “B’vek…”

            _Corprus beast…?_ Of course she had known corprus was bad, but she had never known to what extent. Even her nightmare, in which she had succumbed to something similar, hadn’t been this intense. She looked down at the thing; its bloated features, one gimpy arm that looked ready to fall off, the other almost twice the size of its legs. Its face looked like it was in the process of melting off and pus oozed from countless blisters. Its skin was so swollen and purple from the strain of containing so much fluid and _meat,_ it looked ready to burst _._

            She felt faint the implications of something she had heard ages ago crashed into her mind; animals didn’t get infected with the disease. _This…_ thing _used to be a_ person! That it had ever been a sapient creature was impossible to believe.

            _This_ was what became of those unfortunate few who got corprus.

            She felt like she would be sick.

            “You, there!”

            She jumped at the voice.

            “Khajiit. Did the creature touch you?” She hesitated as the guard approached. “Stay right here, I sent Vedic off to get a priest.” He knelt beside her, casting a disgusted look at the dead beast, “We’ll need to dispose of that quickly, so the disease doesn’t spread. I need you to tell me if you saw that creature touch anyone, or if it touched you. We can’t risk a Corprus epidemic—there’s already talk that the Empire’s considering a quarantine.”

            Adanji took a deep breath, finally finding her voice. “I saw a blonde Breton lady over in Labor Town get knocked over. I don’t think it touched me.”

            He kept her talking, detailing everything she had seen, while another guard went off to the west to look for the Breton. By the time he was done questioning her, the second guard had returned with three battered-looking people—the Breton and two Dunmeri—in tow and the third guard—Vedic, Adanji assumed—returned with a Tribunal Temple priestess and an acolyte. The priestess examined each of them with a magical ball of pale blue light, frowning when she got to the second Dunmer.

            “You might have corprus,” she said, drawing a horrified cry from the woman. “Take her to the Temple for more tests,” she told Vedic.

            The woman wept as she was pulled away. “But I have children! My husband’s dead, who’ll take care of them?! No! Let me go, I don’t have corprus, I can’t!” Adanji felt her heart swell with sympathy for the woman and she hoped they would be able to help her—hoped they _would_ help her and weren’t just carting her off to her doom as she begged and pleaded. “No! Let me _go!_ ” Her cries fell on deaf ears and faded with distance.

            “Khajiit—hold still. This may sting.”

            Adanji winced as the woman examined her; it felt like the magic was probing every inch of her body, and the tingling sensation it left was so intense it felt almost like lightning. She’d had to clench her teeth to keep from crying out in shock. The whole time, she prayed to the Nine and to Azura that she didn’t have the disease. 

            “Hmmmm… you’re clean, but take this,” the priestess said, “I sense a weak strain of the Blight on you.” She handed Adanji a potion, which she downed eagerly, relief flooding through her; she didn’t have corprus. For the moment, her nightmare hadn’t come true. “You may go.”

            She turned to the dead monster that was sprawled in the middle of the street and cast a spell on it, levitating it outside town, two guards at her side to keep people from getting too close. The acolyte came and cast a multitude of spells at the spot where the creature had been lying, ending in a fire spell that left scorch marks on the ground. Adanji left him to it, heading straight for Caius’ house.

 

***

            “Caius!”

            “Ah! Adanji,” Caius looked up from what looked like a letter he was reading. “I wasn’t expecting you. Did you find out anything useful?”

            She stared at him sideways, “Didn’t you hear the screaming?”

            “I did. I assumed it was just another raid, or a Sleeper scare.” His expression changed immensely, from indifferent to concerned, “What happened? You look shaken.”

            “It’s official.” She sighed and drifted over to the window, pulling back the curtain and peering out into the haze. “Something got out of Ghost Fence and it’s spreading corprus.”

            Caius stood so quickly he bumped the table, causing papers to scatter, “Were you attacked?! Did it break the skin? Did you get checked out? If you have corprus—”

            “Slow down!” Adanji snapped, exasperated. She appreciated his concern but she didn’t feel like answering fifty questions so soon after the ordeal. “I _was_ attacked, but it didn’t even touch me before the guards killed it—at least they’re good for something.” Caius frowned at that but let her continue, “A Temple Priestess looked me over and said I didn’t catch anything serious. She gave me a potion. I’m fine. But I thought you might want to know what happened.”

            “Ah. Good. You did well, then. But I’m afraid, for now, there’s nothing else we can do. Mehra’s still being watched and doesn’t have any information for me yet. She said she would send me directions to a meeting place when she can, but that’s it. We’ve heard a few rumors of various people—wizards, alchemists, street magicians, you name it—claiming to be searching for a corprus cure, but as of now, none of the leads look promising.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

            “Thanks, so am I.” She smiled weakly. She hated her indecision; she wanted to have something to do—some job from Caius—but she didn’t want to actively involve herself in something this dangerous. She wanted to simply give up on the prophecies and only have to worry about her duties to the Thieves Guild, but there was so much turmoil going on around her that it would be impossible—there would be no peace.

            She _really_ wanted someone she could unload her frustrations on, but she didn’t seem to have any options for that, either. Caius would probably just tell her to grow a backbone, Arathor would tell her to pull the other one, and she had no idea what Habasi would say. So she bottled it up inside and vowed to scream into her pillow when she got back to South Wall. It wouldn’t solve any of her problems, but it usually helped her feel a bit better.  

            “I’ll get going, now. Guess I don’t have to tell you to contact me if you get more information?” She flashed him a forced grin and left without waiting for an answer.

 

***

            That night she dreamed again. It was similar to the last dream.

 

            _She saw an image of herself in the mirror, only this time it was worse. She was unable to move or breathe as she saw her features slowly rot before her eyes. Her fur fell out in clumps, her body parts filling with fluid and pus until they burst or fell off. Her skin became bloated and gray and she became nothing more than a mass of flesh, unrecognizable as ever having been a Khajiit. She had no limbs to writhe. No eyes to squeeze shut and block out the impossible images. She had no mouth, and she desperately needed to scream._


	14. Waking Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adanji investigates a Sixth House base.

**Chapter Thirteen**

Waking Nightmares

 

            It had been nearly three days since the incident. Habasi had been glad to see that Adanji had been successful in obtaining an alliance with Balmora’s Fighters Guild, however tremulous a union it may be. She had even been happy enough about it to share a celebratory drink with Adanji. Adanji had spent the rest of the time waiting for orders and keeping an ear open for rumors of any more corprus attacks or monsters. 

            She was sitting at the bar, watching Arathor as he played cards with a group of rough-looking men, lamenting their apparently lost friendship, when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned her attention to a tall figure in a cloak who was gazing down at her. “Message for you,” the woman muttered, discretely slipping a piece of paper under Adanji’s mug. The woman then turned her attention to Phane and ordered a drink as if nothing untoward had just happened.

            Knowing who it must be from, Adanji furtively slipped the paper into her pocket when she took her next drink and continued watching Arathor’s game. It wasn’t until another two hours had passed and the woman was long gone that she went down to the hideout to read the message.

 

Found a lead. Come at your earliest convenience.

-CC

 

            She took the scrap of paper and held it over the nearest candle, watching it burn into nothingness before putting on her winter cloak and heading out.

           

***

            “I have a report here from one of my informants,” Caius said as soon as Adanji entered. “And I need you to follow up on it. I’ll warn you now; it’s going to be dangerous. Are you ready?”

            Her fur prickled. Caius had never been this blunt with her about the dangers of a mission before; he had certainly not asked if she was ‘ready,’ at least not without expecting a wholehearted ‘yes, sir.’ There was definitely something she didn’t like in his tone. It sounded like fear, or agitation, but she couldn’t be sure. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. Not wanting to disappoint him, she added, “As usual, I’ll go if that’s where you need me. Sir.”

            He surveyed her carefully, his expression unreadable. “It’s wise to be cautious. Here,” he handed her some money, “Take this. Use it to stock up on potions or other necessities. Take a few days to sharpen your skills, if you need to. I’d allow a few weeks, but I’m afraid we won’t have that much time on this one. You’ll need to report to Fort Buckmoth within the week. They sent a patrol to Gnaar Mok, hunting smugglers with Sixth House connections, and found a Sixth House base. There was a shrine to Dagoth Ur there, and one of Dagoth’s priests who called himself Dagoth Gares. Speak to Raesa Pullia, the Champion at the fort; she’ll tell you about the patrol and the Sixth House base. I need you to find it, kill Dagoth Gares, and bring me a full report on the base and everything in it—that’s why we need to hurry. Hopefully it won’t have been cleaned out before you can get there to learn anything.”

            Adanji could hear her heart thudding in her ears. Knowing what she did about the Sixth House, she really didn’t want to go—certainly not without proper training. She wasn’t even sure a few days would be enough. Maybe under someone who was particularly skilled…? “C-can you train me?” she stammered.

            “I—what?”

            “Can you train me?” she repeated, speaking more clearly.

            His smile lit up his face, making him look surprisingly young. “I never thought you’d ask.”

           

            For the next few days Adanji met with Caius every chance she got, usually slipping out while the Guild slept. Caius expanded on what Habasi had taught her, training her to more effectively use her blades. He taught her to use the dagger to complement her shortsword, to cross block, parry, and counter. He taught her to think of the blades as a single entity, as opposed to two separate weapons, as much a part of her as her own two hands.

            He didn’t pull any punches, and more than once Adanji found herself knocked on her bottom, humiliated, and wishing she hadn’t asked him for help—hadn’t Habasi served her well enough in the past? After every session she had new bruises and a few bleeding wounds, which she’d had to disguise when she went back to South Wall to eat or sleep. But each day she felt less clumsy than before.

            While she had trained, Caius had had one of his agents repairing Adanji’s netch armor; it was faster than paying a smith, who had other costumers to attend to. On the morning of the 12th, she felt ready to go out.

            “Before you leave,” Caius said, “I got you something.” He nodded to a box on the table. Curious, Adanji opened it and was shocked to see a sweet roll in it, as well as a compass.

            “Wow, thanks!” She smiled, feeling a lump in her throat as she picked up the compass and looked it over. It was very simple, and cheap, but it worked. She couldn’t help but feel she should have bought one of these ages ago.

            “Yeah. Happy birthday,” he said gruffly. “Let’s hope you took my training to heart so you can see the next one, alright?”

            Adanji hadn’t even expected Caius to care about her birthday—certainly not enough to get her a gift. More likely he just didn’t want her getting lost in an ash storm, but it still warmed her heart. She grinned, downing the sweet roll in a few bites. It was hardly fresh, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

 

***

            She had collected her gear from South Wall and donned her armor before heading out, purchasing a few potions to add to the lot. Taking a Mages Guild transport, she was able to arrive at Fort Buckmoth before noon. When she asked about Raesa Pullia, she was directed to a stern-looking Imperial woman in heavy armor. She was sitting at a worn desk, her face dimly illuminated by a candle that had been burning so long most of the wax had spilled onto the desk’s surface.

            “Hail, Khajiit,” she croaked, like she hadn’t slept for days. Her eyes were red and puffy when she looked up from a hefty pile of papers spread out in front of her. It looked like she was preparing an official document. “I’m afraid I’m busy right now, but I might be able to help you later.”

            “Actually, I think _I_ was sent here to help _you_ ,” Adanji said, allowing a trace of humor in her voice.

            “What? Oh! Yes, you must be the one Caius sent.” She stood stiffly, rubbing the back of her neck. “He says you're the one to handle this Sixth House base near Gnaar Mok.”

            “Yes.” Adanji smiled, glad she didn’t have to jump through any hoops or make something up. “He sent me to ask you about it. I’ll need any information I can get.”

            “Ah. Of course.” Her expression darkened and she choked back a sob. “Only my—” She cleared her throat, “Only one trooper returned. He died soon after, horribly disfigured with corprus disease, and out of his wits.”

            Adanji’s fur stood on end. _Corprus?_ She suddenly felt just as nervous about this and unprepared as she had been on her very first mission for Caius. Did Caius know about this? _Of course he did,_ she thought, _he’s Caius_. So why hadn’t he warned her? Maybe he didn’t want to scare her away? “I’m sorry,” she said when she noticed a tear sliding down Raesa’s cheek. She could worry about Caius later.

            “It’s…” She shook her head, composing herself. “In his ravings, he spoke of a cavern on the coast— he called it ‘Ilunibi.’ It's not on our maps; try asking locals in Gnaar Mok. They—the troopers, they fought with cultists and disfigured man-beasts— corprus monsters, I think. They fled the attackers and got lost in the caves. Then they ran into a half-man calling itself Dagoth Gares.

            “This Dagoth _monster_ slew the rest of the patrol, but spared the one trooper.” Her voice took on a sour note, “He told the trooper he was being spared, so—so he might tell others that ‘The Sleeper Awakes,’ and ‘The Sixth House has Risen,’ and ‘Dagoth Ur is Lord,’ and,” She swallowed, her lip trembling, “‘All will be One with Him in the Flesh,’ and—and so on. That’s—that’s all we could piece together.” She took a moment, squeezing her eyes shut and gripping the edges of her desk before continuing, “The trooper woke up outside the caves and returned here. We could barely recognize him, and he didn't respond to questions... just kept rambling on like a madman until he—until he died.” She sniffed and turned her head away.

            Adanji apologized again. Despite Raesa referring to him only as ‘the trooper,’ it seemed he had meant a whole lot more to her; perhaps he was a brother, or her betrothed? She probably refused to use his name as a means of distancing herself from the loss. “How can I get to Gnaar Mok?”

            “There is no direct route from here. Your safest option is to take the strider to reach Khuul, and take a boat from there. If… if you really plan on going in there… be careful. Be careful so you can get to this Dagoth Gares and make him pay. Can you do that for me?”

            Adanji really wasn’t sure if she could keep such a promise at this point, but she agreed anyway just to give the woman some semblance of peace. “I hate to ask you this, but if I’m going to Ilunibi, I need to know… did you try to heal the trooper in any way? Did anything seem to slow the disease?”

            “We tried _everything!_ Healing spells, potions, scrolls, prayer—to every divine—and we even called in a Tribunal Priest to call on _their_ gods, to no avail. He died days after he got here. You may have seen it for yourself, if you had come sooner.”

            Guilt suddenly twisted her insides. Of course if she had come earlier there was nothing she could have done, but Raesa wouldn’t have had to relive the moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

            She held up her hand. “It isn’t you. Just—just go and make sure Dagoth pays.”

            Adanji simply nodded and excused herself. After asking around some more, she found that the quickest route to Gnaar Mok, though not the easiest, would be to take a Mages teleport to Caldera then take a day’s walk west. A strider all the way to Khuul and a boat back down to Gnaar Mok, while safer, would take nearly a week. While she dreaded going into Ilunibi and wanted nothing more than to put it off, she feared the longer she waited the more people would die. She didn’t think she could live with herself if she let that happen.

            _Caius trained me. He wouldn’t have sent me if he didn’t think I could handle it._ She hoped. She had to believe that that was why Caius hadn’t told her about the corprus—that he thought she was prepared enough to avoid the disease, strong enough to handle a fight with a monster. He wouldn’t keep something so vital from her without cause.

           

***

            The way to Gnaar Mok was tiring, but not as dangerous as Adanji had feared. She had been attacked by a few wild creatures, but had been able to kill some and scare others away. When she reached the shore of the Inner Sea, she looked out to see the island where the small town was located. It was only marginally bigger than Seyda Neen had been, and the only way for her to reach it without swimming was to cross thin planks of slick, rotting wood that had been made into a makeshift ‘bridge.’

            The town had some nice buildings in it, such as the Hlaalu manor to the north, but mostly it comprised of tiny wooden shacks that were just as decayed as the bridge. To the south there were docks with small fishing boats and one larger vessel for transportation. The place reeked of decomposing fish.

            It was late, so she found the local ‘inn,’ which was comprised of two rooms; one that served as a bar and another with a total of three beds packed in and separated with curtains. When she went to sleep she had more nightmares about corprus, and she wasn’t sure if they had been brought on by her dread or if they had been sent by Dagoth Ur to mock or scare her.

            When she woke it was to someone’s face hovering inches from her own and she screamed, provoking curses from those she had disturbed from their sleep.

            “By the Nine, you’re jumpy!”

            “Arathor!” Adanji hissed, “Why are you here? How did you even _find_ me?”

            “I’ve been following you.”

            “Why?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.

            “Will ya both take yer damn conversation outside so we can sleep?” growled a Dunmer in the corner.

            Fuming, Adanji dragged Arathor outside. Adding to her ire, it was raining, which only made the freezing cold that much more unbearable as it soaked her fur. “So why are you here?”

            “Don’t worry, Habasi didn’t send me and I’m not spying on you.” 

            “Oh, that’s a relief,” she quipped.

            “I came because I was worried about you.”

            She stared, dumbfounded. “Come again?”

            “I talked to Habasi and she said you really _are_ —” he looked around and lowered his voice, “—with the Blades.”

            Adanji sighed. “So, what, we’re friends again?”

            “You don’t want to be?”

            “Of course I do, you idiot!” Her tone didn’t come out quite as playful as she had intended and Arathor winced. She swallowed and worked to get her attitude under control, “It’s just… right now is a really, really bad time.”

            “Why? What are you doing?”

            Adanji looked him up and down, wondering how much to tell him. This was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? Someone to confide in? But here he was and she wasn’t sure she should tell him anything. But those persistent, wide green eyes made her cave. “I’m investigating a Sixth House base in Ilunibi.”

            “That’s… something to do with the cultists, right? Yeah, I remember the so-called sleepers mentioning something about the Sixth House.”

            “That’s right.”

            “Sounds dangerous. I’m coming with you.”

            That’s what she was afraid of. “No! No, you’re not.”

            “Why? Two people are better than one, right? If you’re going somewhere full of evil cultists, I want to go with you.”

            “I appreciate that—really. But I don’t think Habasi would forgive me if I let you come along and you came back with corprus.” _Or didn’t return at all…_

            “Corprus? B’vek! Adanji, what are you getting into?!”

            She didn’t answer. She glanced around and saw people watching them so she led Arathor to a secluded, wooded area just outside the town. The whole time he berated her and insisted on coming along, despite the danger. She couldn’t stand the idea of losing him—or of Habasi losing yet another friend to Adanji’s carelessness. As soon as they were alone she rounded on him. “You’re _not_ coming!!”

            “Why?”

            “Because—” she cast around wildly for an excuse—anything to convince him to go home. Mentioning Habasi’s possible displeasure had done nothing to dissuade him, and neither did the prospect of a terrible disease or murderous cultists. She glared at her toes, her mind raging as she frantically searched for excuses, but only one jumped out at her. _No, not that. Anything but that…_

            The more she thought about it though, growing more desperate with each passing second under his piercing gaze, the clearer the answer seemed to become. “Because…” She swallowed, unable to meet his eye. The guilt had been eating at her for weeks, and for weeks she had longed to gather the courage to tell him—to tell anyone—and now seemed her best and only chance. “Because it’s my fault, Arathor!” she finally managed to spit out.

            “ _What’s_ your fault?” He furrowed his brows in genuine confusion, “What are you talking about?”

            “Chirranirr!” It was difficult not to break down sobbing as she continued, hating herself for Arathor’s pained expression at the mention of her name. Her voice wavered, but she steeled herself and continued despite her shame. “I knew, ok? I knew the Camonna Tong was going to attack South Wall!” He stumbled back a step, staring at her incredulously. “The Bladesmaster told me and I didn’t _say_ anything because—because how could I, without getting caught? I wanted to say something, but I—”

            “You knew…” His voice came out in a hoarse whisper, his hands balled into trembling fists and tears were brimming in his eyes. “You _knew_ and you didn’t _warn_ us?” He looked ready to strike her, but he controlled himself. “Chirranirr and Sottilde could be _alive_ right now if it weren’t for you!”

            “I know! I’m sor—”

            “No! You know what? Fine. You can go to Ilinubi by yourself! You can—you can rot down there, for all I care!” he snarled, storming away from her, toward the docks. She watched him leave, feeling like her heart had been crushed. She wanted to be angry at him, but knew she had no right. Instead she just felt drained.

            She fell back against the trunk of a nearby tree, trembling, burying her face into her palms. _That was stupid. That was_ so _stupid._ She had wanted to protect Arathor, had known Habasi would want that, too, but now…

            She doubted that, assuming she even survived her little mission, she would have a home to return to; likely Arathor would tell Habasi and she would be expelled. What if the whole Guild learned? What if it angered them enough to cause trouble for Caius? The Blades could easily find a way to eliminate the threat, which would probably mean a bloodbath. _Stupid, stupid…_ Maybe Habasi would know she couldn’t win in a conflict with the Blades? Maybe, if Arathor _did_ tell everyone, Habasi could keep things under control?

            She shook violently as she walked away from the tree, back toward the shacks. At least the truth was out, and off her chest, whatever good that did her. She prayed it wouldn’t end badly for anyone—at least not for her family.

 

***

            “Ilunibi Caverns? That's what they call the old sea cave up on the north end of the island, right on Khartag Point. Used for smuggling, mostly. Slaves, skooma, Dwemer artifacts…” a local Dunmer told her when she asked about it. He made a face. “Don't be poking your nose in there. Someone might object.”

            _Of course._ “What’s Khartag Point?”

            “It's a gigantic boulder on the northwestern coast, not far from here… Some of the Orcs consider it a landmark. Why, I don't know. Some Orc or another jumped off on a dare, I think. It didn't end well.”

            It didn’t take her long to find it—the rock was a lofty one, nearly as tall as the guard towers in Balmora. Just a few minutes of weaving and climbing through the thick foliage and she saw its point poking up through the trees. She had to cross more wooden planks to reach it, and after some searching found the cavern entrance wedged between some boulders at its base.

            She stared at the door for a long moment. The dread she had been feeling welled up again, almost enough to make her turn tail and run away. There was just something vile that seemed to emanate from the place. Though it could easily have been from all Adanji had heard of it, it felt palpable and it churned her gut. _Caius needs to know what’s in there. What he learns could help us—might help the locals._ Maybe it could even indirectly help her guild? She shivered.

            _Caius trained me,_ she repeated over and over to herself, _I can do this. I’ve done similar things before. I can do this. Caius trained me._

            What good was it, trying to convince herself? A whole troop of trained legionnaires had gone in there and hadn’t come back out. What could one person possibly do?

            _They were loud. In heavy, clanking armor. Maybe, alone, I won’t draw so much attention._

            With that thought, clinging to it like a beacon, she entered.

            Somewhere, echoing from deep within the cave over the rushing sound of the waterfalls near the entrance, she could hear bells ringing, an unnerving off-key tune. They set her teeth on edge, but she kept going, pressed to the walls and the shadows as usual. The bells slowly got louder. Occasionally, she passed by a mangled corpse in Legion armor and had to force herself to ignore it. She halted at a chamber where a number of disfigured monsters were gathered around a strange dark red statue. It seemed to pulsate with energy and Adanji felt drawn to it. She remembered what Caius had told her about the ash statues driving people insane and firmly kept herself in place.

            The monsters were prostrating themselves before the statue, muttering prayers to it. One particularly malformed beast stood at the back of the chamber, ringing the bells in no particular order or rhythm. It was clear they had all been mutated by corprus. She couldn’t help but wonder why they were still alive. Was there anything in particular that determined how long one had to live after they were infected?

            They didn’t seem to be aware of Adanji’s presence, which suited her just fine; she doubted she could take on the whole room if they attacked. Dagoth Gares was her goal. She slipped past and continued searching the cavern. 

            She passed by a cowering form. He was rocking back and forth on his haunches, muttering to himself. “What are you?” She stopped in her tracks and stared, her fur rising. “Where is this place? I’m so… so tired!” He gripped the sides of his head and wailed, “LET ME SLEEP!”

            Adanji backed away, revolted. She pitied the wretched thing, knowing it could be her one day if she got sick, but she couldn’t help but despise it all the same.

            The creature groped about in the dirt. “Where are you?” he cried pathetically, “Where are you, Lord? We cannot hear you. Speak to us, _PLEASE_!”

            He began raving and Adanji was terrified he might bring others. Quiet as a shadow, she crept forward, driving her dagger between his ribs and into his heart, silencing him permanently. She bit her lip and stared at the bloodied blade for a moment, before hardening her heart. _He was raving. I gave him peace,_ she reasoned, _and if I hadn’t, how many more would he have killed?_

            She thought about the lost troopers and Raesa’s grief, and knew she was doing the right thing. She couldn’t waste another moment feeling bad about these monsters. The best thing she could do—for them and for everyone else—was to keep going and finish her mission.

           

            After some hours she came across another large chamber. At its center was another of those strange statues, but this one was abandoned. She could feel it calling to her and she fought to resist. She didn’t want to get anywhere near the accursed thing, but she had to get by. The voices were getting stronger. They were writhing in her head like maggots in a carcass. Her vision blurred and she fell to her knees. The bells tolled, sour yellow notes pealing out and striking a chord in her heart. She shivered.

            _She looked up to see Dagoth Ur peering down at her, his long dark hair flowing about him in a breeze that wasn’t there. He extended his hand. She tried to back away but something held her there._

She threw herself to the ground, fumbling in the dirt.

            _Dagoth Ur picked her up by the throat. He reached inside of her and gripped her heart. She screamed and struggled, but her flesh began to fall away. Something was in her belly, and it was growing. She felt herself being ripped open from within. An elf with golden skin and a mohawk gripped Dagoth’s hand and pulled himself out of her, leaving her mangled body in a pool of blood. Her chest heaved and she cried out in agony._

            She felt around feebly, her hand finding something hard the size of her palm.

            _The figures stared down at her as she bled out. Their faces split into horrible grins and they mocked her._

_“Outlander.”_

She gripped the stone and forced herself to concentrate, to see through the muddled shadows of the vision. There she saw its form; the black and red silhouette.

            _They had no more need of her. Nerevar had been reborn through her and she could be cast aside; together they would drive the N’wah from Resdayn. It was over; she had failed. She may as well just give up and die._

She grit her teeth and threw the rock with all her might. She heard the sound of pottery shattering and a din like a hive of enraged hornets swarming all around her. It took a moment for the buzzing in her head to die down. She felt like she would be sick. She gulped down air and stared at the broken remains, where the ash had been spilled. If that was what had been smuggled into people’s homes, it was no wonder they were going mad.

 

***

            More hours trickled by as Adanji traversed the maze-like passages. She had killed the few lone corprus monsters she had come across, and did her best to simply sneak by the rest. Finally, she came to a massive room at the end of a tunnel. A tall, thin figure clad in jeweled burlap robes stood at its center, surrounded by ash statues. It was clear he had once been a Dunmer, with his gray skin and pointy ears, but he had no eyes or nose; it looked like that whole section of his face had been scooped out, and a strange, fat tentacle burst forth from the hole.

            Somehow, he saw her.

            He smiled, revealing a mouth full of sharp, rotting teeth, and spoke something in another language. Suddenly Adanji found herself on her knees, unable to move.

            “The Sixth House greets you, Lord Nerevar.” His voice was grating, like a carpenter’s saw dragging across wood, and it seemed to ooze from his mouth like pus from an open wound. “Or _Adanji,_ as you call yourself.” He chuckled mockingly. “I am known as Dagoth Gares, priest of Ilunibi Shrine, and minister to Sixth House servants.” He parted his arms. “My Lord, Dagoth Ur, has informed me of your coming. I wish this time you had come to honor your Lord's friendship, not to betray it.”

            “What are you talking about?” It seemed he wanted to talk. She didn’t, but it felt like she had no choice at the moment. She only hoped that, if it came to a fight, he would release her.

            “Lord Dagoth gives me these words to say to you, so you may give them thought.” His voice suddenly changed drastically, like he was in a trance, and it seemed to press in on her from all directions. “‘ **Once we were friends and brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and in war. Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. But, remembering our old friendship, I would forgive you, and raise you high in my service.** ’

            “My Lord Dagoth bids you come to Red Mountain.” His voice was back to normal, “For the friendship and honor that once you shared, he would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew. I am not your Lord Dagoth, yet I, too, would say to you... Do you come with weapons to strike me down? Or would you put away your weapon, and join me in friendship?”

            The words dripped into her ears like honey and she didn’t want to resist. They painted pictures of wealth and power beyond her wildest imaginings. Above all, they promised respect and camaraderie. When had she ever known true friendship? What was the Thieves Guild to her, really? Caius was with the Blades, and the Blades were just using her. She was nothing but a tool—a puppet—to all of them. _‘It is a lie,’_ Nibani’s voice rang in her head, snapping her back to reality, _‘He calls you to drive the outlanders from Morrowind. This is a very strong dream, very cunning, a dream to stir hearts. This is a very good lie.’_

 _‘Lie.’_ It was a lie. Adanji shook herself, trying to wrench herself free of the bonds that had wrapped themselves around her heart.

            “I’m _not_ your friend!” she spat, suddenly feeling bold, “And your House is dead! Let me go and you can join them.”

            He sighed. “Ilunibi shrine is just a small, quiet retreat for Sixth House servants, a place to contemplate and grow strong and wise in Lord Dagoth's ways.” He turned away and gestured around the cavern, “Here we share the sacraments of flesh and blood, and dream the dreams of our Lord. This and other lesser shrines are hidden from prying eyes throughout the land. But the greatest shrines of Sixth House servants lie beneath Red Mountain, in the citadels of our Lord and his close kin.

            “So you see, Nerevar, we were not dead, but only sleeping. Now we wake from our long dream, and with our Lord, Dagoth Ur, we come forth to free Morrowind of foreign rulers and divine pretenders. When the land is swept clean of false friends and greedy thieves, the children of Veloth will build anew a garden of plenty in this blighted wasteland.” He turned to her suddenly, “And _you_? You have denied our Lord, so you will not share in our paradise!” With a wave of his hand she stumbled forward, suddenly able to move.

            She darted to the side as a ball of fire flew toward her. It exploded on the wall behind her as she ran to close the gap between her and the monster; most mages were weak at close range, easily dispatched with a blade. But Dagoth Gares proved to be quite strong. Before she could reach him he called forth an ethereal sword, which he casually flicked as Adanji brought down both blades, easily blocking her attack. They dueled for a time, and Adanji felt herself getting desperate. Even as her blades danced, coming in at different angles, Gares was able to casually defend against them.

            Suddenly, a sharp pain burst through her gut and it took her a moment to realize Gares had impaled her with a second blade, summoned a split second before; it had pierced her abdomen and gone all the way out through her back. The blade dissipated as Gares wrenched it out of her in a cruel, twisting motion. Her vision was beginning to darken around the edges and she saw double. She could feel her ring hot on her finger as it tried to heal her wounds, but the damage was too great. Gripping her stomach with her right hand, trying her best not to pass out from the agony, she stumbled forward, landing against Gares’ chest. He chuckled, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace her. Reaching around, Adanji used the distraction to stab her dagger into the side of Gares’ throat.  

            Shocked, Dagoth Gares fell to his knees, blood spurting from his twisted, malformed mouth as Adanji ripped her blade from his neck, her legs buckling and threatening to give. His lips opened and closed feebly, a smacking, squelching sound nearly drowning out his foreign words—a dying, gurgling breath that was used in a final act of desperation to utter a curse. As he died the ash statues exploded and a horrible shriek echoed throughout the cave.

            But Adanji was barely aware of any of it; she could feel the crackle of evil magic enveloping her, an acrid, cloying stench filling the air. Her lungs closed and she gagged, thick black mucus bubbling up into her mouth. Her pulse quickened and her vision clouded completely as the same mucus leaked from behind her eyes like thick black tears. Trembling, she at last gave into the pain and weakness, and fell to the ground before Gares’ fast-rotting corpse.  

            Fear gripped her—the only thing she could feel with any clarity. Fear and desperation: all she knew was that she had to get out. Leave. The thought faded in and out of existence along with her consciousness. _Caius_. She had to get back to Caius.

              Each breath was labored. She had to concentrate just to keep air flowing to her lungs. She wasn’t sure how she could get anywhere—how she _was_ getting anywhere—as she blacked out and awoke, repeatedly. She was vaguely aware of someone beside her, gripping her ‘round the middle to support her as she dragged her way to the surface, crawling over the corpses of those monsters she had killed on her way in and many that she had not. She could taste something bitter, like bile, oozing from her mouth each time she coughed, which she did with nearly every breath. Again, she blacked out. This time, it felt permanent. Final. She was certain she was dead.

 

            _Swims was smiling at her, wreathed in the golden hues of a childhood memory. He reached out his hand. “Come play with me!”_

_Adanji grinned, even as tears filled her eyes. She wasn’t sure why she was crying—she loved playing with her friend. “Do I get to be the Gray Fox this time?”_

_“Yeah. You can be anything you want.”_

_Unbridled joy filled her heart and she reached out to him, but just before she could grasp his hand, the scene shattered; the warmth and light was gone, replaced by cold blackness. “Swims?! Swims, wait, where are you?”_

_“Wake up…._

_“What’s your name?”_

_The Khajiit tried to speak, but something caught in her throat. Name? What was her name..? Where was she?_

_“What’s your name?” The voice echoed. Again, the Khajiit found herself unable to answer._

_But the Dunmer kept talking as if she had._

_“Well, I heard them say we’ve reached Morrowind. I’m sure they will let us go…”_

_It was all very familiar. She had been here before, she was sure of it, but she could not quite place where she was, or where she remembered this from. The man who was talking to her was an elf_ — _a Dunmer. A name came to mind, slowly… it started with a J? Jub? Jib? Jiub_ — _that was it. Jiub. Jiub stood over her, hands outstretched, ready to help her to her feet. It was pitch-black_ — _the ground was quaking. That wasn’t right_ — _they were supposed to be on a… on a boat. The ground beneath her feet did not consist of planks. There was no smell of the sea or of fish, no gentle sway of the ocean playing beneath their feet. It was ash and rock. The Dunmer was beginning to fade, and his voice was becoming muffled._

_“Quiet…._

_“Here comes the guard….”_

_“Wake up…”_

_“Wake up...”_

_“Why are you shaking?”_

_Adanji blinked. Jiub was gone. All that remained was a sea of red. Corpses_ — _Dunmer corpses_ — _littered a battlefield. All was burning. The sky was black with smoke as far as Adanji could see. Red Mountain had erupted, or so it seemed, and the blue, shimmering field of power that was the Ghost Fence was no more. The pylons that had supported it were sticking out of the ground at odd angles, and shattered, like useless, blackened bones._

_Again she heard the deep, unsettlingly calm voice that had haunted her dreams._ _“Tear down the pylons...”_

_“... my blind fish”_

_This was the state of the world. Nirn was burning._

_“Tear down the pylons…”_

_“...Swim in the new phlogiston...”_

_“Sing and burn…”_

_The corpses began to shift. They stood up. They reached out to Adanji, pleading, begging her for something_ — _she could not understand. Then they convulsed violently. They twisted and changed_ — _each one transformed into something hideous and grotesque. Some grew extra limbs, some dissolved into piles of muck barely recognizable as life forms, still others became hulking, muscular lumps of mindless flesh. They screamed at her and this time she could understand them._

_“THE DREAMER HAS AWAKENED!!!”_

_Adanji tried to move, but could not_ — _tried to scream, but could not. The mutated dead descended upon her, grabbed each of her limbs, clawing at her face and her eyes, and pulled_ — _they ripped her apart and she could feel every bone snapping, her flesh tearing, her innards spilling to the ground. She could feel their teeth on her as they began to consume her flesh. Her mouth gaped but her throat was dry and closed out any sound she tried to make._

_“…And_ _all shall greet him as flesh, or as dust…”_

_A high pitched whine cut through the darkness._

_It grew. It expanded. It became a shrill, deafening sound that through some strange magic caused the creatures to recoil._

_Somewhere in the din, she was certain she could hear another voice_ — _a warm, familiar female voice. She could barely make out the words, but she definitely heard them._

_“...Fear not, for I am watchful...”_

_A blinding light filled the sky..._

_“Adanji? Come on! Wake up…”_

_“Please…”_

 

              A scream split the air. Adanji sat bolt upright, panicked, and took a moment to realize it had been her own scream which had awoken her, and a moment longer to silence it.

            “Adanji—calm down. It’s just me.” She jumped and looked for the source of the voice. A dark figure slowly came into focus against the black night sky, but it took a moment to register who it was. She looked around and saw that she was near the water’s edge, just within sight of Ilunibi. “Breathe, just breathe, ok?”

            Finally, the name surfaced. “Arathor?” She gasped. She had to work to speak; it felt like something was squeezing her throat, “You came back… why?” Now she at least had some idea of how she had escaped, but she wasn’t quite sure what was real and what had been part of her nightmare. She looked down and saw a pile of empty vials and a bloody rag, and knew that Arathor must have gone to great lengths to save her. Her stomach still ached, and she remembered how severe the wound had been. Her mind was reeling even as the elf answered her.

            “Pff—Oblivion if I know!” He crossed his arms and looked away, fuming a bit before calming enough to look Adanji in the eye. “I guess… I wanted to be mad at you. I still am, a bit… I loved Chirranirr—I miss her—and I want someone to blame but I can’t blame you. Certainly not enough to leave you down there to die!” He shook his head, “I mean, you could have run away as soon as you saw the danger, but instead you came charging in, blades ready, and fought.” He smiled and it looked like an odd mix of genuine and forced. “You may’ve even saved my life. Before you came in that archer was aiming at me, then he was distracted when you barged in and… I’m glad he aimed the first shot at that traitor.”

            “I’m not sure that’s…” she began, but a look from Arathor silenced that line of thought.           “Bet you’re gonna say something like ‘he was Habasi’s friend! He didn’t’ mean to,’ right? But the fact remains that he did. ”

            “And I didn’t warn you when I could have—should have—” She choked on something slimy and swallowed, working to clear her throat.

            “You sure you’re okay?” he asked. She nodded, though she really didn’t think she was. “Good. Just—get over the whole not-warning-us thing, ok? If you don’t, I won’t, and I prefer being friends.”

            “You’re right.” She gagged on something and coughed. “Thanks…” She took a slow, steady breath and immediately started coughing up black bile. Her dream came crashing back into her mind and she recoiled in dread. Now she knew it had been no mere vision; it had all been too real, and the bits of black goo that clung to the fur on her chin and her palms proved it. Gares had cursed her. She was sick with something, and she had to find out what—though she already had a sinking feeling that she knew what it was and she was suddenly finding it very difficult not to break down in tears.

            “Don’t mention it… what’s wrong?”

             “Arathor… we need to get to a priest, or a healer. Now.”

            “What? Why? I already gave you some potions.”

            She shook her head vigorously, “No, it’s not that. I—I think I have Corprus, and since you came in after me, there’s a chance you might, too.”

           


	15. The Divine Disease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adanji copes with the horrors of a terrible disease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I only just realized that when I updated this on FF.net last time I completely forgot to update here. Well, today you're getting both last month's and this month's updates. Sorry about being late with this.

**Chapter Fourteen**

The Divine Disease

 

            Fearful of what the Tribunal Temple might do to her if their priests found that she had corprus, Adanji had opted to go to Caius first. She had cleaned herself up to the best of her abilities and covered her mouth with her scarf and much of her face with the hood of her cloak. Then she and Arathor took a boat from Gnaar Mok to Hla Oad, and from there to Vivec, where they booked Mages teleport to Balmora. The trip had taken several days and Adanji wasn’t feeling well. She had retched a few times during the trip and kept coughing up black goop. It had been enough to make the shipmasters and mages nervous. 

            Arathor helped her walk to Caius’ house, and the whole time she dreaded what the spymaster would have to say.

            “Adanji! Thank the Nine you’ve—” Caius stopped short when he saw Arathor entering behind her and his face became a picture of fury, “Who’s this? What’s he doing here?” 

            “He knows about us,” Adanji began, “I—”

            “He _knows_? How?”

            “I told him—”

            “You fool! What were you _thinking?_ ” Adanji recoiled as if she’d been slapped.

            “It wasn’t her fault!” Arathor put in. Adanji shot him a warning look but he ignored her, “I noticed her disappearing a lot and I got suspicious so I followed her.”

            Caius stared at them, glowering, his rage bubbling beneath the surface of his reddened skin, “First your bloody mastermind, now your friend? Do you think this is a game? Soon your whole guild will know, and _what then_?!”

            “I won’t tell anyone!” Arathor snapped before Adanji could speak, “Adanji’s my friend. If they learn she’s a spy—”

            “Enough!” Adanji spat, throwing her arms in the air. “We can talk about this later. I brought Arathor here because I think I have corprus and he might, too!” Of course, since her symptoms had worsened, extending to painful boils popping up through her fur and her skin getting unbearably inflamed, and since Arathor had none of these symptoms, she was now fairly sure the elf didn’t have corprus, but she needed some assurance.

            Caius was looking at her as though he had never seen her before, his anger evaporated for the moment. “You what?”

            “I don’t know for sure. I wanted to be tested for it, but I didn’t trust the Tribunal priests, so I hoped you might know someone who could check us out. You know—someone whose idea of a cure doesn’t involve sticking us in a fire?”

            Caius shook his head slowly, cursing under his breath. “I have friends in the Imperial Cult. I’ll see what strings I can pull.” He crossed to the door, “You both wait here.” Then, unexpectedly, he rounded on her, jabbing a finger at Arathor, “But if _he_ tells anyone—if word of our true identity somehow gets out—I’ll know who to blame. You may do well to remember the Thieves Guild isn’t at its strongest.”

            With that he was gone, out into the night. A lump formed in Adanji’s throat at the threat.

            “That went well…” Arathor quipped.

            “He means it.” Hurt flooded through her at the thought. She knew Caius owed no allegiance to the thieves, that his first duty was to the Empire, but it still felt like a betrayal. “I hope… I hope no one else gets curious, for both our sakes.”

            Arathor hung his head, silent for a few minutes. When he looked up again it was with a sheepish smile. “So… we’re not going to fight again, are we?”

            She cocked her head to the side, “Why would we do that?”

            “Because I got you in trouble.”

            “Arathor, if you hadn’t come after me, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. We’re fine.”

            “Good.” Arathor draped an arm over her shoulder. Until then he had been doing his best not to touch her unless absolutely necessary and she hadn’t blamed him. She leaned away, even as she craved the comfort of a friend’s arms.

            “Please don’t. I’m probably contagious,” she cautioned.  “I don’t want you getting sick.”

            “I’m sure it’ll be okay. It’s probably just a bad strain of the Blight. Not corprus at all!” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. All the same, Adanji appreciated the gesture.

***

            Caius returned a few hours later with an Imperial in humble robes trailing behind him. Arathor was inspected first and, as Adanji had suspected, he was clean. She caught his eye and smiled. The priest then turned his full attention on Adanji, noting her sores and the black pus she had been coughing up, expressed little hope for her. He then looked her over carefully with the same blue-lit palms the Tribunal priestess had used on her what seemed like ages ago, sending a hot, tingling sensation through her. He pulled back, frowning, when he finished.

            “It’s as you feared, I’m afraid. You have corprus.”

            Arathor, who had been celebrating his health, cursed beside her.

            Adanji just stared blankly ahead. She had been expecting it, but now that the priest confirmed her fears, it felt too real. She felt numb and her heart hammered somewhere in her throat. “Y-you’re sure?”

            The priest nodded gravely, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I can tell you, or do for you. As a favor to Caius, I won’t tell anyone or confine you to quarantine, though I would highly suggest you keep yourself away from the public.”

            As the priest left with one last apology, Adanji turned desperately to Caius. “You said you were looking for a cure. Did you find anything promising? Any leads at all?”

            He shook his head, gesturing for Arathor to leave them. After a very brief argument—which the elf inevitably lost—Adanji and Caius were alone together. “No. We’ve not found anything we haven’t dismissed as a hoax made to prey on the hopeless and the stupid.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, making her look up into his eyes even as her own filled with tears, “Listen. We’ll redouble our efforts. Do everything we can for you, ok? In the meantime, I’ll assign Nine-Toes to help you chase down leads.” That made sense. Since Argonians were naturally resistant to disease, maybe Nine-Toes wouldn’t get sick from working with her in such close quarters. “There should be some books that might help—scholars have been researching corprus for years. You may also go back to the Urshilaku and see if they know anything we don’t. They might tell you things they wouldn’t discuss with other outlanders.”

            Adanji felt her spirits lift a little. There might be hope, yet. Even if it wasn’t much, something was better than nothing. At least going to the Urshilaku would give her something else to focus on—something to do.

            “Now, before you go, I need that information on the Sixth House base. Is there anything new you learned?”

            “Well… the place was full of ash statues and people insane with corprus. I… _felt_ firsthand what those statues do to you.” She described, in great detail, everything she had seen and experienced in the caverns, everything Dagoth Gares had told her before she had killed him, and how Gares had cursed her with the disease. The most important part—that the Sixth House was everywhere, that most of its bases were under Red Mountain, was what really caught the spymaster’s attention. She never thought she would see Caius look truly terrified by anything, but now the expression on his face was uncharacteristically horrified. He looked like he was watching the Empire he had fought so hard to protect burning down around him.

            He somehow managed to regain control of his demeanor and he nodded sharply. “Thanks. With Gares dead, that shrine is no longer a threat. You’ve done well,” he said shortly, “Let me process this information and write my report to the Empire. I’d like you to stay here, tonight. I’ll get you lodging outside town as soon as I can; I think you should keep to yourself as much as possible.”

            “I’m not staying anywhere.”

            Caius’ eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

            “You said to talk to the Urshilaku. I’ll go do that, now.” Caius nodded in understanding as she continued, “Go ahead and get that lodging set up incase… incase I return empty-handed. And please make sure you have all the books you can find on corprus waiting there for me.” She flashed him a smile, hoping it might lift her spirits, but all she felt was that she was fighting the inevitable.

            “Who, exactly, is the spymaster again?” Caius said with a hint of humor in his eyes. When Adanji opened her mouth to apologize, realizing she had sounded like she was barking orders, he raised a hand to stop her, “That’s ok. I’m glad to see you taking charge.” He sounded genuinely proud of her and she felt warmth rise in her cheeks, “I’ll get right on that. Take this coin—it’s not much but it’s all I have right now—and get yourself anything you think you need. Good luck.”

***

            Adanji had barely slept. Her mind had been on only one thing—getting to the Urshilaku and asking about a cure. Nothing else had mattered. The more time she wasted sleeping the more she would delay any possibility of getting a cure, the more likely she would be too late if one even existed. So her trip had been faster than the last time, shaving off two whole days by use of mage transport and sleepless nights of walking.

            She felt like collapsing from exhaustion when she finally reached the camp—they had moved since her last visit, but were still near the shore. Her knees buckled dangerously but she pushed on. The hunters who had awoken bright and early watched her curiously as she entered. She lowered her hood just enough for them to recognize her face and the tribal earrings she wore before pressing on, thankfully unhindered by questions.

            Adanji recognized Nibani’s yurt instantly by the rug and wind chimes outside the entrance. It was still early, but given the urgency of her visit, Adanji hoped the wise woman wouldn’t mind the disturbance. She called in through the flap and a tired, disgruntled voice called back, saying simply, “Come.”

            The wise woman was sitting up and combing her hair into some semblance of order with her long fingers while Adanji settled across from her.

            “Clanfriend. Welcome.” She flashed a smile, despite the sleep in her eyes, “You have returned sooner than expected. Do you come with information on the lost prophecies?”

            Adanji shook her head, frowning. “I’m afraid not.” She lowered her hood completely this time, removing her scarf and pulling off the leather bracers, peeling back her sleeves to reveal the boils that had formed on her flesh. Her fur had started shedding horribly near the angry red blotches, becoming patchy and ugly.

            Nibani’s eyes widened in shock, and then, as the realization dawned on her, her expression darkened. “I see.”

            “I was wondering if you know of a cure.” Nibani was already shaking her head, and Adanji’s heart began to sink, but she continued, “I hoped that the Urshilaku might have some remedy you wouldn’t have shared with outsiders.”

            “No. Sadly, we do not. We are not miracle workers.” Nibani sighed heavily, “I am sorry. All I can offer is wisdom in foolish words. Take heart and remember the Prophecies. ‘The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies.’ This could very well be the second trial, set before you by Azura. If you are the Nerevarine, as I now have reason to hope that you may be, then you will pass this test, and you will come out the stronger for it.” She offered what was likely meant to be a reassuring smile, but it just looked thin, “Now, though it pains me, I must ask you to go. Clanfriend or not, you have corprus. You _must not_ endanger the camp.” She gestured toward the tent flap. “I wish you well in finding the cure.”

            Adanji ducked out of the tent, her mind whirling as she stormed out of the camp. If the Ashlanders had no cure, who would? Could books on alchemy or disease really hold the answer?

            “Clanfriend?” Zabamund’s voice called behind Adanji, halting her retreat. She turned slowly, raising her hands to keep him from coming closer as she lowered her veil so he could see her disease. He stopped in his tracks, gasping and throwing a hand over his mouth, “The curse of flesh!”

            “You’ve seen corprus before?”

            He hesitated, his brow furrowed, before conceding. “All Ashlanders know its effects.”

            “Do you know of a cure?”

            “You have been to Nibani?” She nodded. “Then you have your answer. I am sorry.”

            She had known not to get her hopes up, but his answer still disappointed her. “Then I have to get back to Balmora.”

            “What is there for you? The settled Dunmer surely cannot help. More likely they will kill you or lock you away for your disease.”

            “There are books,” Adanji said, trying to sound optimistic. “I have a friend looking into the possibility of a cure…”

            “Corprus cannot be cured,” he said incredulously, before noticing her expression. His composure softened, though it was forced. “But… You have shown much promise. Perhaps it is your destiny to do this impossible thing?” He smiled, “If this is the case, you’ve precious little time to waste. Take my guar, Yanit. He is old, but fast.”

            Adanji gaped, taken aback. “Really? Are you sure?”

            “He is a _gift_ , Clanfriend,” he stressed, a hint of humor in his eyes, “And you need him far more than I. Take him with my blessing, and go. May he speed you on your journey.”

 

***

            The guar handled energy efficiently; while Yanit was not as fast as a horse, he could lope a steady pace for days without tiring. Adanji, however, was exhausted. Her bones ached, and her legs and bottom hurt so much from the rough ride that when she dismounted Yanit in Balmora’s stables, she collapsed. Her clothing was too tight against her blistering flesh and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She pulled uselessly at the bonds of her cloak and armor, gasping for air and clawing to get to the infernal itching that crawled under her skin. Shadows danced at the corners of her vision until she passed out.

 

            _Her skin felt like it was on fire. She could hear voices in the distance. It sounded like they were mocking her. She squeezed her eyes shut, clasping her hands over her ears when she heard Dagoth Ur’s voice intruding into her mind. He was calling her; beckoning her very soul to Red Mountain. She shook her head frantically as she tried to resist, convulsing. A Gares-like ghoul loomed over her, reaching out and gripping her arms._

_“Even as my Master wills, you shall come to him, in his flesh, and of his flesh.”_

           

            She jerked out of her sleep with a gasp.

            “Ah, you’re awake. Good.”

            She flinched, blinked a few times, and took in the room around her. She was in a cramped space; a tiny shack made of dank-looking wood. A curtain closed her off from the rest of the room, but she could see two figures silhouetted against it in the flickering candlelight. They were speaking in hushed tones.

            “Adanji?”

            She shifted her weight, her hammock swaying gently beneath her, and looked up to see Caius leaning over her. She only recognized him by his eyes and his voice; the rest of him was shrouded in a cloak and, like Adanji had been, he was wearing a veil from the nose down. “Yeah,” she croaked, gripping at her throat. It felt raw. “Good to see you dressed.”

            He ignored her quip. “You’re lucky we were keeping an eye out for you. If a Priest had found you instead…” He let the conclusion hang in the air.

            “I know. Thanks.”

            “I take it the Urshilaku didn’t have a cure?”She shook her head. “I was afraid of that, but given your condition, it was obvious…”

            “My condition?” She threw back the blankets and froze, staring dumbfounded at her hands. Most of the fur on her arms was gone, and her left hand was bloated to twice its normal size, pus seeping through the bandages that she assumed Caius had treated it with. Her clothing hid the rest of her body from view, but she could guess it looked just as bad. She felt like she would vomit. 

            “Adanji. Look at me.” She tore her eyes away from the horror of her twisted hands and stared at Caius, trying desperately not to panic, “You’re still alive. You seem to have your mind intact. That’s remarkable. It means we still have time.”

            She tried to take solace in that, tried to latch onto it for some semblance of hope, but found herself failing. If the Tribunal and Imperial priests couldn’t cure the disease, and if the Ashlanders, with their strange magicks knew no cure, what hope did she have in finding one?

            “Adanji.” Caius called her attention back to him, looking her square in the eye, “We’re working on this, ok? Your new assignment, until you find a cure—and you _will_ find a cure—is to help us study.”

            She nodded absently as Caius pushed a book into her hands and turned to leave. “Where are you going?”

            “I have my own duties to get back to, but don’t worry. I will help in any way I can.” She stared at the door for a while after he left, then glanced down at the volume in her hands. It was a thick tome on alchemy; particularly the properties of various ingredients known to cure disease. It looked like positively dry reading, but if there was even a chance it could save her life, Adanji was determined to slog through it.

            She was quickly reminded she wasn’t alone when she heard someone nearby clear his throat; Arathor, dressed in a garb similar to Caius’, was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “So… good to see you back. And alive—that’s always a plus.”

            “For now,” Adanji grumbled. “So. Caius let you in?” Arathor nodded, a grin playing in his eyes, “And you’re… helping?”

            “You sound so shocked! You _wound_ me!” he said dramatically, before adopting a more serious tone, “Your spymaster said as long as I make myself useful, don’t get in the way, and don’t tell anyone about you, I can stick around.”

            “He has not been useful thus far,” hissed a voice in the corner. Adanji leaned forward to see Nine-Toes sitting at the table behind the curtain. It was overloaded with books of all sizes and looked like it should collapse under the weight. “He has been talking my ear off, so to speak, while I do all the real work.”

            “Yeah, he does that,” Adanji said with a wry smile.

            Arathor ignored them, “We haven’t found anything useful, yet—”

            “ _I_ have not,” Nine-Toes interrupted, “ _I_ have been the one sifting through piles of—”

            “—But I’m sure we—”

            “ _I_ —”

            “ _We_ will find something soon!” Arathor finished, quirking a brow at Nine-Toes before fixing Adanji with a heartfelt smile, “Trust me.”

            “Thanks.” She forced a smile, “Really, I appreciate it. I’m very tired right now, though. Please come back later, after I’ve had my sleep.” She waited for them to leave, each taking a few books with them to continue their work, and when they were gone, she plopped down on the edge of her hammock. She stared blankly at the walls for a few minutes before burying her head in her palms and weeping.

 

***

            The next few days Adanji, Arathor and Nine-Toes were buried in books, busily sifting through piles of papers and notes, barely speaking unless they found something interesting. Adanji had found a passage about the Tribunal; over the last thousand years Almalexia and Vivec had gone out among the people and helped them while Sotha Sil had hidden away. Alamalexia, specifically, had been rumored to aid those infected with corprus. When Adanji mentioned it, however, Nine-Toes was quick to steal her thunder. In the past decade the Tribunal as a whole had been withdrawn, using their energy only to strengthen the Ghostfence. Even were that not the case, Nine-Toes reasoned, it was highly unlikely Almalexia would tend to the needs of an outlander.

            Occasionally Arathor would speak up to break the silence. He had updated Adanji on the Thieves Guild. Habasi was still covering for Adanji’s absence, apparently in the hopes that she would pull through, and had managed to secure more Fighters Guild allies. While Adanji appreciated the updates, as they distracted her from her ailment, Nine-Toes had insisted they pay attention to the matter at hand.

            They researched every known alchemical reagent, scrawling down anything that looked remotely promising, occasionally sending Arathor to obtain such ingredients from Nalcarya. When he returned, he and Adanji would resume their studies while Nine-Toes worked with the ingredients.  He had made potions to cure various forms of the Blight disease, as well as a few poultices and salves to treat sores. While these remedies soothed Adanji’s pain and seemed to at least slow the progression of the disease, nothing cured her.

             Arathor only grew more and more determined as they continued their research, though Adanji was losing faith. They examined every healing and curative spell known to modern mages and priests, only to find none had any effect on corprus. Stories of miracle workers or mystical cases of cures popped up occasionally, but the leads quickly ran dry or were proven false.

             As time passed, Adanji refused to go out, even for fresh air. She ate little, though part of her was very tempted to eat her own flesh even as the idea repulsed her. Her nights were spent sobbing more than sleeping. It was when two of the fingers on her badly bloated left hand turned purple and fell off that she finally lost all hope.

 

***

            Nine-Toes had gone home for the evening, their day’s efforts as fruitless as ever, but Arathor lingered. “So…” Adanji gazed at him inquiringly. With his face covered it was hard to see what he was thinking or feeling—she had to listen for the tone of his voice. Now he just seemed to be waffling. He was silent for a moment before finally saying what was on his mind. “You should really get out, you know?”

            She sighed, crossing her arms, “What’s the point?”

            “You’ve been cooped up in here too long. Forgotten how to live.”

            “And? I’m dying, Arathor, I don’t think anything I do now matters.”

            “You’re _not_ d—” He shut his mouth at the look she gave him. She was sick of the lies—what good was hope if it was false? He cleared his throat, “Ok. So you’re dying. So what? Isn’t there anything you want to do before you die? One last adventure? Come on! Tell me—anything at all.”

            At first she just gawked at him, her ears flat, unwilling to play his game. Then, as she thought about it, she dropped her hands to her side and stood straight. “Well, this one time…” She recounted her misadventures with Swims on her last birthday with him, a glimmer of excitement lighting in her belly as she expressed her idea to do something like that again. 

            “Ha! Snow cocks, eh? Well, what with the quarantine, I don’t think we can make a trip to Skyrim, and it doesn’t snow in Vvardenfell, so…”

            A thought sparked in her mind and she couldn’t let it go; if this was truly to be her last day on Nirn—or her last week, or month—she was going to go out with a smile. “No. We don’t need snow. Just paint. I know just the target, too…”

            Arathor shifted on his feet, his eyes alight with intrigue.

            An hour later they were outside the Council Club—the Camonna Tong hideout in Balmora—buckets of makeshift paint in one hand, a bottle of brandy each in the other. Arathor had checked and rechecked ahead of time to make sure the coast was clear. Now they set about painting.

             When they were finished, they stepped back to admire their handiwork. The whole front wall was covered in graffiti. In large letters they had painted the phrases “All Hail the Outlanders!” and “Abolitionists Welcome,” and “Camonna Tong sucks dong!” They had even painted a rough depiction of a Dunmer sucking on a large mushroom that looked rather like a phallus.

            They were about to add more when Adanji noticed the torchlight coming up the stairs, inevitably to round the corner and catch them, and signaled for Arathor to run. They sprinted all the way back to the shack, leaning against the door and cackling drunkenly into the dawn.

           

***

            The next week all but erased that night’s joy from memory. Camonna Tong had issued a bounty for the vandals, and while no one knew their identities, making Arathor safe, Adanji had problems of her own. Every second of sleep brought terror and misery. She dreamt of journeying to Red Mountain, shedding her flesh and becoming one with Dagoth Ur. Sometimes the dreams were metaphysical, or symbolic, but too often they got disturbingly intimate.

            That wasn’t even the worst part. She was becoming less and less cognizant of what was real and what was imagined. She could swear she was being awoken at night, terrible corprus beasts attacking her where she lay. The beasts were slain with relative ease, and though she had been certain they had been real, when she rolled out of bed in the morning there was no sign of a break-in or corpse.

            One morning she woke and all of the furniture had been stacked oddly in the center of the room, the chairs setting on the table, leaning at impossibly precarious angles. When she touched them, they toppled to the ground and she awoke—to find herself sleep walking.

            On one such morning she saw that there was a note on the table in front of her, a quill gripped firmly in her hand. The note was written haphazardly, the words not forming coherent lines, but she could make out a clear message:

 

_Lord Nerevar Indoril, Hai Resdaynia!_

_My Lord, Friend, and Companion,_

_Once we were friends and brothers, Lord Nerevar, in peace and in war. No Houseman ever served you better, or more faithfully. Much that I did was at your command, at great cost to myself, and my honor._

_Yet Beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. It was a cruel blow, a bitter betrayal, to be felled by your hand._

_But, remembering our old friendship, I would forgive you, and raise you high in my service. The Sixth House was not dead, but only sleeping. Now we wake from our long dream, coming forth to free Morrowind of the foreign rulers and divine pretenders. When the land is swept clean of false friends and greedy thieves, the children of Veloth will build anew a garden of plenty in this blighted wasteland._

_Come to Red Mountain, old friend. For the fellowship and honor that once we shared, I would grant you counsel and power, if only you would pledge that friendship anew. The path to Red Mountain is long, and filled with danger, but if you are worthy, you will find there wisdom, a firm friend, and all the power you need to set the world aright._

_As ever, your respectful servant and loyal friend,_

_Lord Voryn Dagoth, Dagoth Ur_

 

            Adanji stared aghast at the letter, written clearly in her own hand but by Dagoth’s mind. More disturbing than the implications, she actually felt tempted to go. Whispers told her Dagoth had a cure, or could make her plight bearable. Could it really be so bad? What did she have to lose?

            Just then there was a knock on the door, making her jump. She whirled and swung it open without a thought and was surprised to see Caius there. Without waiting for an invitation, he pushed past her.

            “Make yourself at home,” she muttered.

            “How are you feeling?”

            That was a stupid question. She snatched up the note she had unconsciously written and thrust it into Caius’ hands. “I’m losing my mind.”

            “This is your handwriting,” he said slowly as his eyes flitted across the message.

            “Brilliant deduction.”

            His mouth set in a hard line. “Were you awake when you wrote this?”

            “Sleep walking.”

            “So Dagoth is definitely talking to you…” His brow creased, then he shook his head firmly. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out. The more dead ends we find, the closer we get to—”

            “No,” she snapped, unexpected rage flaring in her gut, “ _We_ won’t find a cure! Arathor and Nine-Toes have been helping me but we’ve found nothing. And where have _you_ been?!”

            He gawked at her, mouth opening and closing. Then he scowled, “I’ve been doing my duty to the Empire! Trying to save your ungrateful hide has been part of that.”

            “Ungrateful?!” She punched the wall just beside Caius’ head, causing the wood to shatter. Caius didn’t flinch but for a moment Adanji was puzzled—she didn’t even feel a bruise. She shook herself; her inexplicable strength didn’t seem to matter right now. She held up her left hand, bloated, bald and bandaged, missing the last two fingers. “Tell me—what part of any of this should I be grateful for? I’m _diseased_! I am losing my fur, my mind, and probably my life!”

            Now she was almost nose-to-nose with Caius. They were separated by veils, but she was sure she wouldn’t care if they weren’t. “None of this,” she growled, “None of it would be possible if _you_ and your Azura-be-damned Empire didn’t kill my friend and send me to this rotting backwater! Tell me, oh great Spymaster, what you’ve ever done to help me! You could have helped me protect my guild, but you didn’t care. You could have _warned_ me about the corprus in Ilunibi! You could have—” she choked up, swallowing at a lump in her throat.

            “Are you done?” Caius snapped, his expression like stone, “From where I’m standing, you’re the one who chose to stay in Morrowind. And you’re the one who can’t take charge and do anything for herself.”

            Adanji recoiled. That stung. She found her anger ebbing only to be replaced with hurt, and she deflated. “You want to know the worst part of all this?” Caius tilted his chin, his lips pursed, “I actually care what you think. You have a way of speaking… I wanted to _please_ you. That’s why I stayed. How stupid is that? Did you even once care about me?”

            He looked shocked for the briefest of moments, his expression softening, before returning to his stern composure. He didn’t respond.

            She sighed, “Please… just go.”


	16. The Harder the Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adanji travels to Tel Fyr after hearing rumors of a cure the wizard there might be studying.

**Chapter Fifteen**

The Harder the Cure

           

            Adanji stared at the bottle of poison in her hands, turning it left and right to admire its contents. They practically sang to her. One sip and she could end this nightmare. It would be painful, yes, but far quicker than awaiting an inevitable, yet likely far off, doom. Far better than feeling her mind fading away into complete madness.

            _Yes. End it here._ She frowned as she thought about Arathor. She might, at least, wait for him to come by and say her farewells. He wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t let him know her plans, only that she appreciated his friendship. But if she did that… She firmly shook her head. If she did that she might lose her nerve.

            _Maybe I should at least write him a letter…_ she thought as she uncorked the vial and lifted it shakily to her lips, her eyes brimming with tears.

            _BANG!_

            Her door slammed open, causing her to drop the bottle in surprise. It shattered and the contents leaked out on to the floor. Part of her was grateful even as she lamented the loss.

           “Adanji! Come, this one thinks she has a lead!” Habasi brushed by her excitedly, apparently ignorant of what she had just interrupted. Her voice was cheery for the first time in ages. Arathor trailed in behind her, a slight bounce in his step, but otherwise he kept his emotions hidden.

            “She actually learned about this nearly a week ago, but Caius didn't want you getting your hopes up—he wanted to verify it first, but we got tired of waiting. We... don't know how much time you have left,” he said sheepishly.

        Adanji turned, slowly, and crossed over to the table by Arathor as Habasi shoved piles of papers and books aside, smoothing a leaflet onto the worn surface. “At first this one thought it a trap—what thief in her right mind takes up such a public ‘challenge?’ She was going to throw it away, but then she kept reading.”

            “What are you on about, Habasi?” It was difficult to keep her voice even, between the mix of fury, desperation, despair, and the tiny flicker of curiosity that all threatened to overwhelm her.

            “Here, read this!” She banged her index finger into the leaflet and Adanji snatched it up, reading the contents aloud.

            “ _Attention all thieves, bandits, and brigands. Divayth Fyr cordially invites you to his museum of wondrous artifacts…”_ She huffed, her tail lashing. Was Habasi really trying to give her a job at a time like this? And Arathor was in on it? She wasn’t sure which hurt worse. “What does this have to do with—”

            “Hss,” Habasi waved her hands impatiently, “Keep reading!”

            Her ears flicked back, but she continued as instructed. “ _Challenge your skills and test your mettle, blah, blah, blah, promise of great rewards, but also terrible danger… Risk your life against my guards, traps, and the patients in my Corprus—_ ” She blinked, did a double-take, and stared at the last word. “Corprusarium?!”

            “Precisely! This one heard there was a mad Telvanni wizard trying to cure the disease but she dismissed it. Too many lies floating about. Then, right here in her hands—your hands, now—she gets this invitation to the wizard’s tower. And the invitation clearly mentions this Corprusarium—calls its residents ‘patients!’ This one thinks…” she trailed off, noticing Adanji’s drooping ears.

            “What if they’re just sideshow freaks? What if they’re just monsters meant to protect… whatever artifacts this Divayth is hiding?” No. There had been far too many ‘remedies’ that had only led to disappointment.

            “It is a _lead_ , Adanji,” Habasi said, her ears tilting back, “Habasi thought you would be pleased.”

            “And you’re not having us steal the artifacts while we’re there?” Arathor interrupted, mirroring Adanji’s initial worries.

            “Under no circumstances will you attempt this ‘challenge,’ Arathor, it is far too dangerous!” Habasi snapped, “But Adanji, you might go to this man, ask him for help—”

            They were interrupted by a knock on the door, though it was still hanging partially open.

            Caius stepped in, shaking off the bitter cold, “Adanji, I have urgent news—Ah…” His expression soured. “The ‘Mastermind’ already told you then?”

            “It is not as though you were in any hurry,” Habasi sniffed, crossing her arms.

            “I didn’t want to give her false hope!” he growled, “But it apparently doesn’t matter now.” He turned to Adanji, some of his initial excitement coming back to his face, “The wizard checks out—he is, indeed, looking to find a cure for corprus. I have a plan to get you in his good graces.”

            “Why haven’t we heard of this before?” Adanji couldn’t help but ask.

            “The Telvanni wizards are secretive by nature. They largely keep to themselves, hoping to hide their experiments from prying eyes and competitors. As for why we didn’t pick up on this sooner, we’ve had to sift through mountains of paperwork on hundreds of rumors. It probably just slipped my notice, assuming it reached my desk at all. I suppose we should be thanking Habasi.”  He cast the Mastermind a dark look, as if admitting that had cost him personal pride.

            Adanji nodded. She supposed that made some sense, though she wished they had been a bit more thorough in their search.

            “As I was saying, I learned what I could about this Divayth Fyr to see how we might sway him. Take this,” he said gruffly, pulling a strange device from beneath his robes and shoving it into her hands. It was of obvious Dwemer make, comprised of a metal base with three, yellow glass tubes protruding from it. They had strange, thin wires running through them and reminded her of the unnatural lights she had seen in Arkngthand. “Give it to him as a gift—it may sweeten his disposition. According to my source, he’s an avid collector of Dwemer artifacts.” With that he nodded a farewell, his expression stony, and turned on his heel to leave. Apparently he hadn’t forgotten their fight.

            “Wait!” Adanji gripped him by the elbow, her heart racing. He paused for a moment, tense. “… Thank you.” Without a word or acknowledgement of any kind he continued on his way. She frowned, watching until he disappeared around a corner.

            “We’ll probably need to stock up on levitation potions…” Arathor said to her right, drawing her attention.

            “Why’s that? Wait—‘we?’”

            “I’m coming with you, of course!” Adanji glanced at Habasi, who was nodding her approval behind him, “And as for the potions, well… this guy’s Telvanni. Those wizards really like to show off, or something. Huge-ass towers and no stairs—no need, when they can fly. I think it’s due to some god-complex or something.”

            She knew she wasn’t going to argue with him. In fact, she didn’t want to. Arathor had become her sole beacon of hope—had kept her going in her darkest hours. Even mere moments ago he and Habasi had saved her life, though she hoped he would never know about that. And he had been lucky. He hadn’t caught her disease in all the time he’d been helping her. She would be glad of his company and only pray his luck continued to hold. “Alright…” She squared her shoulders, the faintest glimmer of hope ignited in her belly. “Well, I guess we should set off, then.”

            “Tel Fyr is on an island west and south of Wolverine Hall in Sadrith Mora. Habasi doubts you can get public transportation with your illness, but you may be able to rent a boat. Let Arathor handle that, yes? You just keep yourself hidden” She patted Adanji’s shoulder and smiled warmly, “This one believes you will return, alive and well.”

            Adanji returned the smile halfheartedly. “I hope so.”

            Without further ado, Adanji packed her bag and they were off to the stables. Yanit crossed the short distance to the fence as soon as he saw Arathor. The elf had been taking care of him for Adanji, and so the guar had come to expect food and the occasional grooming whenever he came by. He leaned his gigantic head into Arathor’s palm and grunted.

            “Ready to stretch your legs, boy?” Arathor asked. Yanit tossed his head, as if in understanding. Within the hour they had him saddled and ready to go. Though it was tight, they could both fit on his back.

            “We should probably get to Ebonheart,” Adanji said as Arathor took the reins, “Should be able to get a boat there.”

            “Sounds good,” Arathor said after a moment of thought, “Stables there, too. The boat ride will probably take a while, though. Couple days, at least.”

            “Better than running Yanit into the ground, and probably faster than trying to ride him cross-country.”

            “Yeah,” Arathor agreed.

 

***

            Adanji waited on the beach just out of town, staring out at the heavy blanket of mist that had formed over the Ascadian Isles. She could only see a few yards ahead of her, but she figured the mist went on for miles and it was incredibly dark. Even running at a steady pace, Yanit took nearly the full day to get them to Ebonheart. It wasn’t long before Arathor was back, smiling. “Here.” He handed her satchel over, and she saw that it now had several vials of what she assumed must be levitation potions.

            “Thanks.”

            He nodded. “Got us a boat, too. One week’s lease. Tiny thing, but it’ll do.” The Bosmer led her the short walk to the docks, where a dilapidated rowboat bobbed in the waves, tethered to the shore by a slimy rope. It looked like it would sink at any moment. “It’ll do?” she said, “We’ll be lucky to get there alive.”

            “Look, it was the best I could do at such short notice. Anything else would have been out of our price range,” he snapped.

            “I—you’re right. I’m sorry.” She knew why he was being short. She had been so irritable and glum the past week that even she’d started to find herself annoying. She had even begun to scare herself, given her ever more frequent and violent outbursts since Caius’ visit. She was surprised Arathor was still willing to help her.

            “That’s fine,” he insisted, “Let’s camp out here for the night and head out at dawn. How’s that?”

            She was about to argue, impatient to just go. She had no way of knowing how much longer she had to live. But he had a point. With it this dark they would likely hit rocks or something and capsize. Best to wait until they had better visibility.

            They slept huddled close to a campfire they’d started at a clearing near water’s edge, a makeshift lean-to sheltering them from the icy winter winds. They set off at first light.

 

***

            It was two and a half days before they saw it—the tip of a tower peeking over the thick fog that had yet to dissipate.  As they neared, it slowly came into focus; a giant, spiraling emperor parasol with various branches shooting off into separate towers, all capped in bright orange, fungal ‘roofs’ and wrapped in vines and dead, frozen moss. Here and there, knotholes covered in amber ‘glass’ served as windows. Adanji could see candlelight filtering through them. She imagined that, in the spring or summer, it would be quite the beautiful sight to behold. Even now, in less than half its glory, it was spectacular. 

            “Never seen a Telvanni tower?” Arathor said behind her. She shook her head. “They’re all like that. Sort of, I mean each one’s unique in its own way, I guess. The Telvanni like to grow their homes with magic. Sort of a status… thing for them, I think.” He shrugged. “I dunno, all Telvanni are nuts if you ask me.”

            Adanji smiled. Nuts or not, the wizards made pretty homes—and this one, hopefully, could save her life.

            They rowed to the port, where a rather nice, personal ship was docked, its banners proudly displaying what Adanji assumed to be the Telvanni House symbol as they fluttered in the chill breeze. Adanji stretched aching muscles as Arathor tethered the boat, shouldered her pack and tentatively made her way up the winding path to the ‘front door.’

            “Wait for me,” Arathor said as he caught up with her.

            Adanji smiled apologetically, “Sorry, I’m just…”

            “Anxious, I know. We’ll get you taken care of. Don’t worry.” He knocked on the round wooden door. It looked completely organic and, like the rest of the tower, must have been grown straight from the emperor parasol with magic. The bark shifted and morphed, the wood parting for them, and they were greeted by an unusual-looking woman.

            “Hello…” Her ruby eyes flicked between them, “I assume you’re here to plunder the dungeon?” Then her gaze settled on Adanji’s attire and hunched figure, and her expression softened, “Or perhaps you have corprus and would like to see Divayth Fyr?”       

            Adanji nodded, “Yes, that! Er—please. I have corprus and need a cure.”

            She stepped aside, letting them in, “Of course. Everyone who gets corprus—well, almost everyone—eventually finds their way here. We take them to the Corprusarium.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not very pleasant, but at least they’re all fed and cared for. Won’t you come this way?”

            Adanji’s fur stood on end and her claws flexed. “Wait—no. I’m not here to live out the rest of my days in some prison. I need a cure!”

            The woman studied her closely, her mouth set in a hard line, “We do not, as of yet, have a cure. If you would like to see Divayth Fyr you can ask him about it. He is in his study, upstairs—the topmost tower.”

            She pointed up the winding path and left them to their business. Adanji and Arathor exchanged nervous glances and made their way up the hallway. As they passed by a sitting room, Adanji could have sworn she saw to robed women who looked exactly like their greeter having a discussion over tea. She ignored them, however, and they kept going until they came to what looked like a dead end until they looked up. There was a circular hole in the ceiling, at least ten feet deep. Adanji pulled out a levitation potion, handed one to the elf, and knocked hers back.

            An invisible bubble seemed to form in her belly, slowly expanding. As its edges passed through her body it felt like she had been submerged in water, only to float to the surface like driftwood. The next thing she knew, she _was_ floating. Her body seemed to glide wherever she was looking, so she kept her gaze on the ceiling until she had risen to the next floor and let her feet touchdown on a rug, Arathor landing softly beside her.

            An ancient Dunmer with neat silver hair and a full set of Daedric armor looked up from his desk as they entered, his brows furrowed in bemusement. “Yes? Can I help you? Ah—please, sit down.” He gestured to chairs that looked like they had been grown from flowers. Adanji guessed that they probably were. “It is truly rare that I get visitors.”

            “That’s not—” Adanji cleared her throat, remembering her manners at the last second. “I mean, before we do that, I have something that might interest you.” She rummaged in her pack and pulled out the artifact Caius had given her.

            “That's an interesting Dwemer piece you have there,” He said, his eyes gleaming with acute interest, “What can you tell me about it?”

            “Only that it is yours, if you want it,” Adanji said, presenting it to him on open hands.

            “A gift? For me? How thoughtful.” He smiled, dubiously taking it from her with long, delicate fingers. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting it closely for several long minutes, his grin slowly widening. “Thoughtful,” he said, “And shrewd.” He turned that scrutinizing gaze on her. “I suppose you know I’m a collector, and that such a gift is bound to please me?” He held up a hand as Adanji opened her mouth to apologize. “No, don’t. I am pleased. I congratulate you on your diplomatic skills.”

            He crossed the room in three graceful strides, setting the Dwemer device atop a shelf filled with such oddities. “So, why have you tried to butter me up? Come to consult the great Divayth Fyr? You have the divine disease? Want to plunder the dungeon? Or leer at my daughters?”

            “‘Daughters?’” Arathor said before Adanji could respond, a tiny smirk playing on his lips.

            The wizard apparently noticed the gleam in his eye, because his expression was a mix of pride and amusement. “Not bad for something born in a jar, eh?” Arathor’s face fell, jaw slacking in horror. “Charming and talented. Not daughters, really. A little project—a side benefit of my researches into corprus disease. Made them myself, from my own flesh! Nice, aren't they? Alfe Fyr, Beyte Fyr, Delte Fyr, and Uupse Fyr. Quite a comfort to me in my old age.” He chuckled and Adanji couldn’t help but wonder what sort of ‘comfort’ they offered.

            “So—is that like— _incest_ ,” Arathor said, “Or is it more along the lines of mast—”

            “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, though she really wasn’t, “But what do you mean by ‘divine’ disease?” She had only once seen corprus referred to as such in the many tomes she had studied, and the nickname hadn’t been explained.

            “Ah! An excellent question!” He held up a finger, his eyes lighting up. “The magical principles of corprus disease are elusive and miraculous, far more subtle and powerful than any conventional sorcery or enchantment.” He started pacing, his hands clasped behind his back as if he were a professor addressing his students. “I'm persuaded that it is in some manner the curse or blessing of a god. Perhaps both a curse _and_ a blessing. The victim, of course, cannot appreciate the marvelous nature of corprus. It saps the mind and destroys the body. But to a wizard, it is a profound and glorious mystery, a riddle worth a long lifetime of study.”

            “Well I hope all your studying has uncovered something useful _,_ ” Adanji said, trying to keep the sharp edge from her voice, “Like a cure. I need one.”

            “Oh?” He leaned forward, eyeing her as she lowered her hood for him to get a proper look. “Ah, yes, I see. How interesting.” With gloved fingers he gently gripped her chin, turning her head left and right, coaxed her jaw open to get a look at her tongue, then peeled back more of the fabric to view her arms and shoulders, all the while prattling on about the disease. “Looks like you’ve had it a while. Amazing that you can still string more than two words together.”

            He poked and prodded at her sores, noting the missing fingers on her left hand and tutting to himself. “Did you know that corprus makes you immune to disease? Immortal, too, barring accidents. Hah. Have you ever heard of the prophecies of the Nerevarine? Ashlanders say the Nerevarine will be immune to disease. And ageless, according to some. I've always thought, ‘Maybe I have the Nerevarine down in my Corprusarium, and I don't even know it.’” He laughed. “The Nerevarine is a fat, disgusting corprus monster, and mad as a marsh rat. Wouldn't that be funny?”

            Arathor met Adanji’s eye, “Funny, only that you should mention it.”

            “I’m the Nerevarine,” Adanji said, stepping forward, “Or, at least, could be. It’s complicated.” She began to explain how she fulfilled some parts of the prophecies, only to interrupt herself, “Look, do you have a cure or not?”

            “That's a fascinating story you tell,” he said, scratching his goatee absently, “You’re the Nerevarine…” He shrugged. “Means nothing, of course. Corprus victims have all sorts of delusions. But... let me think...” Adanji tried, yet again, not to get her hopes up as he continued. “I've got a potion. In theory, it should cure corprus. Doesn't work, though. Probably kill you. Killed all my test subjects.” He shrugged yet again, dismissive, “But you've got nothing to lose. Before I give it to you, though, I want you to look around below in the Corprusarium. Know what's in store if you don't take the potion.”

            “I think I already know what’s—”

            He held up a hand to silence her. “I wasn’t finished. While you're there, I want you to pick up a pair of boots from a victim, calls himself Yagrum Bagarn. My oldest patient. Handy fellow, fixes things for me. Bring the boots back, and then you can have the potion.”

            “Just… bring you the boots?”

            He nodded. “It might not be as simple as that, of course. Over the years I’ve collected quite a few patients. Poor devils live a wretched existence. Constant pain, ferocious appetites and passions. No reason at all. Don’t expect them to play nice if they get hold of you.”

 

***

            A heavily armed and armored argonian greeted them, his eyes revealing his old age, but his body, hard and muscled, telling years of experience that had not dwindled. He inhaled deeply at their arrival, his gaze fixed sharply on Adanji. “I sense the taint of corprus on you,” he croaked, “Are you a new inmate, then?”

            “No!” Adanji snapped, too hastily. She abruptly calmed herself, noting his tightened grip on his spear. “Er, no… I’m doing a favor for Divayth Fyr. Picking up some boots for him, that’s all.”

            “Nnn… Then I should warn you. Do not harm the inmates. If you so much as lay a hand on them,” He leaned forward, his nose mere inches from Adanji’s, “I will cut you down.”

            She caught the scent of sulfur on his breath, and her fur stood on end even as he backed off. Frankly, she was more worried about the inmates hurting her than the other way around. “So, you’re their guard?”

            “That… and more. I am Vistha-Kai, their Warden and Protector, the guardian and peacekeeper of the Corprusarium.” He puffed his chest out proudly, holding his spear confidently out at his side, “I have spent long years in service to Lord Fyr, first as a slave, then as a free hireling, and now as a friend and partner. He has been kind and generous to me, and I take his interests, and the interests of those he shelters, to heart.”

            She met his gaze evenly, despite the nervous twitching of her tail, “So, don’t get me wrong. I respect your position, but what if I need to defend myself?”

            “I _will not_ tolerate you adding to their suffering,” he reiterated, “Indeed, they are brutal and ferocious, and they will kill you if they can. But you are their guest, and you may not harm them, or you will answer to me.” With that, he turned to Arathor, “And what of you? You are clean. Unless you are here to plunder the dungeon, you’ve no business here.” He chuckled softly, almost a purr, “Of course… if that is your purpose here, I shall warn you that I take great pleasure in hunting thieves.”

            Arathor eyed him nervously, then shook his head. “No, I’m just here for emotional support.”

            “Then wish her luck and wait in the tower.”

            Arathor scowled, but after a brief staring contest which he ultimately lost, he sighed and did as Vistha-Kai said. “If you need anything, Adanji, I’ll be just inside, you hear?”

            Adanji nodded. “Stay out of trouble.” She didn’t like the small smirk and wink Arathor tossed her before leaving. “Where can I find Yagrum Bagarn?” she asked the Warden.

            He shrugged. “He moves around. Most likely to find him deep in the caverns, though. Near Uupse Fyr. Likes her company.” He unlocked the padlock on the gate and swung it open, letting Adanji pass before latching it again behind her.

            It reeked. With each step she took further into the bowels of the Corprusarium, the acrid, cloying stench only grew worse. She was accustomed to the odor on some level, though it made her gag. It was the same stink that wafted from the puss and other bodily fluids that ever seeped from her own open sores, now magnified tenfold with the presence of countless other victims.

            As she wandered the caverns, she passed several groups of corprus victims huddled together, their eyes fearful. When these groups saw her, she noticed the occasional flash of intelligence and despair behind their eyes. She could only guess they had not yet fully succumbed to the madness, but knew it was fast approaching and could only scream on the inside. Others were solitary, shuffling around, bloated beyond recognition. These, she guessed, had been completely consumed by the disease; they looked no more intelligent than cattle.

            Some clawed up chunks of their own flesh. At first, she assumed it was only to scratch the terrible itching, as she had done a few times to the point of wounding herself, but then she watched as they devoured it and her stomach turned. She remembered her own temptations and shuddered. She found it odd, as she continued on her way, that she hadn’t been attacked yet as Vistha-Kai had warned. Relieved as she was, she found it unsettling. Did they merely view her as one of their own? A repulsive idea if there ever was one, she thought.

            Then she heard the drums.

            _Thum… thum-thum…_ Rhythmic, like a heartbeat. They reminded her of her first visit to Ald-Ruhn, the steady beating she had heard in the distance. _Thum… thum-thum…_ They reminded her of her dreams, and in spite of herself she found it soothing. She noticed, too, the patients around her settling down, swaying gently with their eyes closed.

            She decided then to follow the sound; whoever was playing the drums had to at least be somewhat intelligent. Maybe they could point her to Yagrum? 

            As she rounded a corner further in the caves, she came to a large chamber and saw the source of the drumming. A Dunmer, Uupse Fyr, she guessed, was leaning against a bookshelf and playing a guar-skin drum. She acknowledged Adanji with only a nod as she approached.

            This chamber was well furnished, a stark contrast to the rest of the caverns, with rugs, pillows, a dining table, and the bookshelf near Uupse, well-stocked with many ancient-looking, yet well-preserved, tomes. In the center of it all sat a fat, bloated elf unlike and Mer Adanji had seen before. His legs, perhaps lost to the disease, had been replaced by a bizarre Dwemer contraption; a set of six fully-functional, metallic spider legs powered by steam and whirring cogs.

            His nose was buried in a book and he hadn’t yet noticed her, but as he was the only corprus victim she’d seen who seemed fully cognizant, Adanji could only assume this was Yagrum Bagarn. She cleared her throat, “Yagrum?”

            He lowered his book, revealing a long, ratty gray beard, and scrutinized her with small, watery eyes. “A new inmate? Ah, but this one speaks,” he said with a faint hint of amusement, “A refreshing change of pace. Come to speak with the last living Dwarf?”

            Her heart did a summersault and she gaped at him, dumbfounded. “You—what?”

            “This is, at least, how I style myself. I do not know for a fact that I am the last. But in my travels thousands of years ago, I never encountered another. And since I have been here, I often ask Lord Fyr, but he says he has never heard a credible rumor of another Dwemer, on Tamriel, or in any Outer Realm.”

            “That’s…” Adanji cleared her throat. Honestly, it was both fascinating and incredibly sad. She couldn’t imagine what a terrible, lonely fat it must be. “I’m sorry.”

            He only shrugged, though she could see sorrow behind his eyes. “It is of no consequence, little one. A wound dulled with time.” He tilted his head. “If you did not know what I am, then might I ask why it is you have come, and why you know my name?”

            “Divayth Fyr sent me,” she said, suddenly remembering that she was here a reason. “He said you had a pair of boots for him?”

            “Ah.” He turned on his spindly spider legs, ticking over to a chest behind him, and rummaging around until he came upon a set of armored Dwemer boots. He passed them to her, his face pinched in mild disgust, “Tell my gracious Keeper that I have done what I could. Only a Dwemer magecrafter could have done so much. But only idiots could have created these boots. It shames my race that we must be judged by the works of such lack-wit blunderers.”

            Adanji stared at the boots in her hands, oddly light for heavy armor and beautifully designed, wondering why Yagrum viewed them with such disdain. At her questioning look, he humored her.

            “Lord Fyr obtained those boots from an unfortunate thief. And, given the quality of their craftsmanship, little wonder the fellow came a bad end. But I can do nothing for them. The fundamental enchantment is flawed. Might as well start over again... if such a pair of boots could still be fashioned in these benighted latter days. But I have done my best. Take them to Lord Fyr, with my sincere apologies.”

            “I will,” she stammered, though she lingered. She had so many questions she wanted to ask him, if only to satisfy her own curiosity, but she wasn’t sure if that would be rude. She bit her lip.

            “Was there something else, little one?”

            “Ah—sorry. I was just wondering how you...” she trailed off, trying to think of the best way to phrase the question.

            “How I came here, in this wretched state?” he finished for her, “I owe my life to Lord Fyr. He took me in when I was a mad monster, out of my mind. In time, I emerged from my dementia, and now I am quite lucid most of the time, though my body is still a grotesque and useless prison. And I still have some feeble hope of a cure. Lord Fyr has tried many spells and potions. None have helped me, but neither have they harmed me. If anyone can cure this disease, Lord Fyr can.”

            That gave Adanji some hope, though at the same time worried her. If Fyr had been working so long on a cure and had yet to find one, what hope did she really have? Would she even have her mind anymore by the time a cure could be perfected? “I have to ask… what’s it like living here?” If Fyr’s cure didn’t help her, she might well find herself stuck in the Corprusarium for the rest of her days.

            “Dismal. Once I was a Master Crafter in the service of Lord Kagrenac, chief architect of the great Second Empire freeholds, and the greatest enchanter of his time. I could not match the genius of Lord Kagrenac, but what he could envision, I and my colleagues could build. All of that is gone forever. I still retain my cunning, but my hands and eyes fail me, and my memories have long faded.

            “My only consolation is each day to mock the gods who destroyed my race, and condemned me to this bleak existence.” He shook his head slowly, lamenting the loss of his glory, his loved ones, and his race. “Since my people disappeared, I have been alone in this world, trapped in this grim prison. I can scarcely move. And my fellow inmates are scarcely good company. The risk of corprus disease deters most visitors. But if you meet with cultivated minds undaunted by the terrors of the Corprusarium, you might mention your recent interview with the Last Living Dwarf.” He smiled wryly.

            She wondered if that would be her one day, lamenting all she had been. Not that she had been much to begin with. “What were your people like, if you don’t mind my curiosity? What happened to them?”

            “Hmm.... I cannot say what happened. I was not there to observe. I was in an Outer Realm at the time, and when I came back, my people were gone. I left Red Mountain, wandering Tamriel for years, searching our deserted colonies, looking for a survivor or an explanation. Then, a long, long time ago, I returned to Red Mountain, still looking for answers. Instead, I found corprus disease, and I have been here ever since. I have theories, if you are interested.”

            Since he actually seemed quite happy—even eager—to share, Adanji allowed herself to sate her curiosity and nodded, settling down on a cushion and leaning forward.

            “Lord Kagrenac, the foremost arcane philosopher and magecrafter of my era, devised tools to shape mythopoeic forces, intending to transcend the limits of Dwemer mortality. However, in reviewing his formulae, some logicians argued that side effects were unpredictable, and errors might be catastrophic. I think Kagrenac might have succeeded in granting our race eternal life, with unforeseen consequences—such as wholesale displacement to an Outer Realm. Or he may have erred, and utterly destroyed our race.”

            Adanji asked many questions after that, about his people, their culture and technology, what life was like in his time. They spent a few hours just talking, even after their conversation shifted away from the Dwemer. When she left with the boots, she felt strangely uplifted, and Yagrum had a contented smile on his face as he returned to his book.

 

***

            “Well? Did you get my boots?” Divayth Fyr asked as she returned to his study, Arathor trailing behind. “No boots, no potion.” She would have been annoyed, but after the kind words Yagrum had shared on his behalf, she couldn’t be bothered.

            She pulled the boots from her satchel and handed them over. “He says they were really crappy and he’s sorry he couldn’t do more to fix them.”

            Divayth chuckled. “Sounds like him. Standards of him time, you know. Can’t be helped.” He set the boots aside and plucked a vial from his desk. “Now, I'll give you the potion, on the following condition: you must drink it here, before my eyes. It should act immediately, and I need to observe you very carefully. Agreed?”

            “Yes, whatever you want,” Adanji said, apprehension causing her voice to tremble.

            “Good. Open your mouth, and close your eyes...” She didn’t feel like he should be mocking a patient like this, but did so anyway, nearly gagging and spitting as he tipped the foul-tasting contents into her mouth. Instead she forced herself to guzzle it down like her life depended on it—which, she thought, it very likely did. At first she didn’t feel anything and grew dismayed. But then she dizzied, her vision blurred, and she found herself on her hands and knees, gasping for air as the pain she’d been experiencing the past month intensified.

            “Goodness... Good grief! Look! Look! It's... WORKING!” She barely heard Divayth’s excited ramblings through the agony. It was like she’d been dropped in lava. She screamed and felt bone cracking, muscle twisting. Great chunks of flesh fell from her and she blacked out. A feminine voice whispered in her ear.

_“You have been chosen…”_

            She gasped, lungs hungrily gulping for air as if she’d been under water for hours, and light flooded back into her vision. She stared down at her trembling hands—thin, delicate. No longer bloated. She stood with the help of Arathor, leaning against her friend for support. The pain was gone.

            Divayth was staring at her in awe, beaming triumphantly. “Remarkable! Truly remarkable.” He gently grabbed her by the wrist, pulling back her now-loose sleeve, “Let me check your skin... your eyes... your tongue....” Adanji cooperated numbly as he examined nearly every inch of her. She was still missing chunks of fur where the growths had been, but she assumed it would grow back with time. “Amazing. I think it worked! No sign of the disease at all. Of course, you still have corprus, just like I planned.”

            Adanji spluttered, Arathor tensing beside her as if ready to strike, “WHAT?! You mad, Renrij bastard! Why would you—”

            The wizard held up a hand patiently, grinning despite her insults, “You still have the disease. But all your symptoms are gone. The negative ones, at least. You should still find you’re fully immune to disease, a fair bit stronger than usual, but your mind and body will remain intact. And who knows? You may even outlive me one day,” he said smugly, “Quite the achievement. Four thousand years is a very long time. Marvelous. I'll have to go try it out on some of the more desperate inmates. But I'll answer any questions you have before you go.”

            She felt drained. It was all too much to take in, and she flet so utterly speechless that she could hardly think of any relevant questions. Finally, she managed to murmur, “There’s… nothing I owe you?”

            “Ah, no worries my friend! Your gift and participation as a lab rat were payment enough.”

            “Ass,” Arathor muttered under his breath as they left the wizard to his devices.

 

***

            She felt strangely light as they clambered into their boat and pushed off. A huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders and she thought of the sheer impossibility of it all—it had felt so hopeless before and she hadn’t even imagined a cure, if one indeed existed, could be so swift or thorough. Her mind reeled with the implications of Fyr’s parting words—that she might now be immortal—but besides that detail, which she could not quite wrap her head around at the moment, she was relieved and happy for the first time in an age.

            “So… how’re you feeling?” Arathor asked, breaking the silence he’d held since leaving Divayth’s study.

            “A lot of things, really. Overwhelmed. Confused—not sure how I should feel about possibly being immortal.” Adanji cringed. It seemed even less possible when she spoke it aloud. “But mostly, I feel pretty great,” she added after a moment.

            “Good. If you didn’t I’d row right back there and punch that asshole in the face.”

            Adanji shrugged, touched by his concern. “He wasn’t so bad. He cured me. Not sure I like how he went about it, but I’m less likely to die horribly now, so that’s something.”

            Arathor grunted. They rowed in silence for a while.

            “So what about you? You weren’t waiting by the door like I expected and you were a bit shifty when I found you.”

            Arathor laughed. It started low, then it became a cackle, and it took a while for him to get himself under control.

            “Er… Am I missing a joke? Wait. Do I even want to know?”

             “Turns out the old nutter really did have quite a collection. Most of it was too heavily guarded, but…”Arathor twisted in his seat, grinning, and threw back his cloak, pulling up his shirt to reveal an ornate leather cuirass. A subtle glow told her it was enchanted, but what really caught her interest was the fact that she recognized the design. She’d seen it carefully illustrated in a book on lost artifacts of Tamriel. “Is that the Cuirass of the Saviors Hide?”

            “Great, isn’t it?”

            “It’s Daedric,” she said flatly.

            “I know!” She made a face. No matter how much power they promised, she doubted anyone in their right mind would actually use a Daedric Artifact. They had a tendency to betray their masters at the worst possible moment, returning to Oblivion until they could find another foolish host to wield them. “Now, now, don’t worry. I’m no idiot. I’m only wearing it because that was the easiest way to smuggle it out. I plan on giving it to Phane. He can find a buyer and it should fetch quite the bounty. I might even be promoted.”

            Adanji smiled, laughing for the first time in what seemed like years, and rolled her eyes. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

            “No more than you are. Come on, ‘Nerevarine,’ let’s get you back to Caius.”


	17. Amaya

**Chapter Sixteen**

Amaya

           

            It was well after dark when they returned to Balmora, the first morning of Sun’s Dawn, though the month hardly matched its name. Arathor had split off when they’d reached Labor Town, saying he’d tell Habasi the good news while she spoke with Caius. Oddly for the hour, he seemed to be awake. His window glowed with flickering candlelight.

            “Caius?”

            Caius looked up from his bed, eyes tired and red, and set aside the letter he had been reading. “Adanji!” His jaw dropped and he jumped up, eyes wide in disbelief. “Is it really…? By the Nine, you did it!” He looked her up and down. “You look good.”

            Adanji grinned. “Thanks, but apparently I’m not really cured.”

            His face fell a little, “You sure don’t _look_ diseased.”

            “It’s… complicated. Like everything’s been lately.” She explained, to the best of her abilities, what Divayth Fyr had told her and all she had gone through to get the cure. By the time she finished Caius looked dumbfounded. It took him a moment to find his voice. Adanji noted that this was the first time she had seen him like that. Normally, he seemed like he could handle anything.

            “I’m not sure what’s more incredible,” he said, “Your chat with the last living Dwarf or the possibility that you could very well outlive an elf.” He regained his composure, his tone as clipped as it had been the last time she’d seen him. “Either way, congratulations. I’m glad you’ve been ‘cured.’” He shifted his weight, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced back at his bed. That was when Adanji truly noticed the letter.

            “What’s that?”

            He sighed heavily. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with right now. You’ve had a long week. Go get some rest and come back in the morning. You might want to go back to South Wall, though. I’ve stopped paying the rent on your shack.”

            Adanji nodded, wondering what he would have done if she had returned, alive but without a cure. Maybe he hadn’t expected her to return at all?

 

***

            When she returned to South Wall it was to a frenzy of questions. Habasi, apparently, hadn’t told them a thing, and they were curious as to where Adanji had been the last month and a half. She found herself wishing that thieves weren’t nocturnal. If they weren’t, they’d all have been in bed and she could easily have slunk into her own bunk unnoticed.

            “She has been gone a long while, yes,” Habasi said, “But as this one told you she has been working for Habasi. Arathor has brought us a wonderful item, worth our weight in gold.” Only Adanji and Arathor noticed the slight edge to her voice as she said it. Habasi had specifically ordered Arathor _not_ to steal from the very powerful wizard. They exchanged amused glances as she continued. “He was only able to do this because Adanji has been scoping out a very promising mark for me.”

            “I thought we weren’t doing that kind of job?” Sneaks-in-Shadow said.

            “Yeah. We were supposed to hold off until the Camonna Tong’s been dealt with.”

            Habasi huffed, ruffling her fur, “This is true, yes. But must this one remind you that this war has been costing us money? This one knew we would be needing the gold. Now, as soon as Phane has found a buyer, we will be able to afford more help, along with our basic needs.”

            That seemed to satisfy most people, but when someone turned to question Adanji on her assignment, Habasi silenced him. “Please. Adanji has been very busy. If you have questions, ask her tomorrow. Right this moment, she needs sleep.”

            Adanji cast her a grateful nod, swiping a strip of scrib jerky from Arathor’s plate and devouring it as she slipped down into the basement.

 

***

            There had been no dreams that night. Only peace, long-awaited and well-earned, and for once she awoke fully rested. She had a quick breakfast with Arathor and Habasi, mercifully free from probing questions as most of the thieves weren’t awake yet and the Mastermind continued to cast warning looks at any others who pried.

            “You’ll have to tell them eventually,” Habasi murmured. “Not everything, of course. Just what it was like to scope out a Telvanni tower. It’s not a typical job.” That was an understatement. Mostly the Guild avoided the lairs of powerful wizards—especially the Telvanni, given their general reputation for cruelty.

            “They wouldn’t believe me.”

            Habasi smirked, “That’s the mark of the best heists. They’re always unbelievable.”

            Arathor cleared his throat, “You know, _I’m_ the one who actually got the prize. Shouldn’t I be getting the praise?”

            Habasi cocked a brow. “You’re lucky this one didn’t throw you from the guild,” she hissed. “We would have been unable to help if you had gotten caught, and Adanji might have been compromised.”

            Arathor crossed his arms, pouting.

            “That said, good work.”

            He perked up immediately.

            “Gotta go,” Adanji said as soon as she finished eating, “More ‘scoping out’ to do.”

            Habasi nodded, understanding. “Don’t take too long. This one has to promote you both. For appearances,” she stressed at Arathor’s triumphant grin.

 

***

            Caius was expecting her this time, but something was very off. When she looked around she saw why—the books had been tidied up, all traces of skooma and moon sugar gone, the bed was made, and a bag was resting on the table, neatly packed with essentials. Caius himself was fully dressed, a winter cloak draping over his shoulders.

            “What’s going on?”

            He sighed. “Unfortunately, I've had a bit of bad news.” He began pacing, running a hand through his hair. “You saw the letter last night. I've been recalled to the Imperial City.”

            Adanji’s heart lurched. “Wait. Why?”

            “Internal politics. Some concern about my sugar. I thought about refusing the recall—”

            “Why don’t you? I mean…” _I need you._ “I thought your sugar problem was a cover.”

            He shook his head, refusing to meet her eye. “I can’t. They have members of my family back in the capital. Anyway, I'm afraid some of it may have something to do with the problems with the succession. As the Emperor's health declines, factions are maneuvering for advantage.” He cleared his throat, adopting his more professional stance. “I may be gone a while—that’s why you're being promoted to Operative.”

            “I don’t—what does that even mean?”

            “It means you’re the ranking Blades agent here in Vvardenfell district. As far as I know. There may be other Blades agents here I don't know about. It wouldn't surprise me. I may be gone a while, and you'll have expenses. Here's some gold. And you can use the house until I return—if I return.”

            “No, stop,” Adanji snapped, “I can play along with the Emperor’s stupid games, I can take on the burden of being ‘Nerevarine,’ but I can’t lead a bunch of secret agents! I’m no spymaster!” _I need you._

            Again, he shook his head. “You’ve done very well, Adanji. I have faith in you. Besides, you won’t really be leading the Blades. It’s just a formality. We’re mostly self-sufficient, or get our orders from the Mainland. If you need help, you know where to find Nine-Toes and the others. They can help you.” He scooped up his pack, swinging it over his shoulder. “I've only waited here to give you your final orders before I go.”

            Adanji stared blankly ahead. She was finding it difficult to listen—she had just come to accept her role as Nerevarine, though she hadn’t known it until that morning, and had expected Caius to remain and help her, at least until her task was complete. She couldn’t do this alone. “And what are my orders?” she managed to choke out.

            “Continue pursuing the Nerevarine prophecies, as the Emperor commands. First, go to the Hall of Wisdom and Justice, and get Mehra Milo to help you find the lost prophecies. She hasn’t reported in for some time, so I expect she may have been compromised. If that’s the case, search her quarters. She’ll likely have left a message under the name ‘Amaya.’ Whatever happens, from this point on, you'll have to follow her directions, and follow the prophecies. Good luck.”

            Adanji hadn’t moved or even blinked during his whole monologue. He’d sounded so cold. He brushed by her to leave.

            “Wait.”

            He paused, regarding her curiously.

            “I just…” She swallowed. Before she knew what she was doing, she had launched herself forward, thrown her arms around his waist, and was nuzzling her face in his chest. She choked back a sob even as she hated how emotional she was getting. “I didn’t want it to end this way. Not without…” She bit her lip, her ears tilting back and her tail drooping between her knees. Caius hadn’t budged and she felt like an idiot, but she kept talking. “I just… need you to know I’m sorry. For all the times I yelled at you. Especially the last time. And I wanted to th-thank you. Thank you for all the help you’ve given me. For being here for me and being patient with me. I never had a father, but I looked up to you and respected you. Like Hides. I imagined that’s what a father must be like. I don’t even know if you’ve ever cared about me, but you mean a lot to me—more than I ever thought possible. And now…” She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying in vain to fight back the tears that just kept flowing. “Now you’re leaving.”

            She felt Caius’ hands on her shoulders. At first she thought he was going to push her away, leaving without a word like he had before she’d gone to Tel Fyr, but to her surprise he returned the embrace. He cleared his throat gruffly. “You were going through a rough time. I’ve already forgiven your outburst.” She glanced up through bleary eyes, meeting his dry—yet strangely emotional—gaze. “And I _do_ care. You’ve been a competent agent, especially given your prior inexperience, and you’ve been a good friend. I’m proud of you.” She pulled away in shock, rubbing at her eyes with the backs of her hands. “That’s why I’m confident you can do this.” He straightened his tunic, snapped shut his cloak, and grasped the doorknob. “It’s been an honor, Adanji. And it will continue to be.” He tossed her one last smile before wrenching the door open. “If I’m able, I’ll be in touch.”

            With that, he was gone, leaving behind only the sound of the wind howling through the still-open door. Adanji fell back into Caius’ bed, staring into nothingness.

            It seemed awfully empty without the mess.

***

“Please give me a job,” Adanji said as she settled next to Habasi after making sure none of the others could hear them. The Mastermind had made a show of promoting Adanji and Arathor less than an hour before and the guild members who had congratulated them were now celebrating with drink. Phane and Hecerinde had been grudging when they gave Adanji their well-wishes. It seemed they were still suspicious of her though, as they were absolutely right—though they couldn’t possibly know about what—she honestly couldn’t blame them.

            “Habasi may have something. She got correspondence from Jim. He is concerned about something and requested help. He’s currently at Dirty Muriel’s.” She caught Adanji by the arm as she was about to stand up. “Wait. Is everything alright? This one noticed you looking glum when you returned from your mission.”

            “I… can’t talk about it here,” Adanji muttered, “But I can tell you later. Thanks for the job.”

            Habasi nodded. “Is there another from him?”

            “Yeah,” She did her best not to choke up at the subtle mention of Caius. “I’ll head to Wolverine Hall as soon as I can. I may be gone a while.”

            “Of course. Good hunting, Bandit.”

 

***

            It was nearing sunset by the time Adanji arrived on the Vivec Mages Guild teleportation platform. She doubted if she would find Mehra at a time like this, so she made her way down to the Black Shalk, renting a room from Raril.

            “Hey, it’s you,” he said as she handed him the coin, “You don’t have your friend with you, do you? Took a week to clean up the bar after that mess he caused.”

            Adanji smiled apologetically. “No, I left him at home. I don’t need to pay damages, do I?”

            He shook his head. “Nah. You covered him pretty well last time. I just hope he doesn’t piss on your rugs while you’re gone.”

            She politely laughed at his joke, bade him a goodnight, and made her way to her room. While she had appreciated the solitude last time, having been so tired of the ever-crowded barracks of the Thieves Guild, now she just felt lonely. She had spent the whole time she’d had corprus sleeping in her lonely shack, had spent her first night back in South Wall in a fairly empty room, and now… Now Caius was gone. She wasn’t even sure she’d ever see him again. It was finally beginning to set it. She had never realized, even when saying her good-byes, that she could miss the man so much, or that his absence could make her feel so lost.

            Sighing, she dropped her bag on the nightstand, shrugged off her armor, and collapsed into the mattress, drifting gratefully into another dreamless sleep.

 

***

            Mehra Milo was nowhere to be found. Adanji had been discreet as she’d searched for her familiar red hair in the library, and when she hadn’t seen her, had been just as careful asking one of the librarians about where she might find her. After some convincing, he told her where she could find Mehra’s quarters in the Hall of Wisdom, just a short walk from the library. Naturally, Mehra’s door was locked.

            Adanji glanced around the corridor, making sure she was alone, and then set to work picking the lock. It came undone easily enough and she slipped inside unseen. The room was fairly small, containing little beyond the necessities, so it was easy to search. It took her only a moment of rifling through drawers to come upon the hastily-scrawled letter.

_Amaya,  
  
       Sorry I missed you. I had to run some old documents over to the Inquisitor at the Ministry of Truth, and I'm likely to be tied up there for a while. Why don't you meet me there as soon as you can? Then we can leave together as soon as I'm done. And Amaya, don't forget to bring me the two Divine Intervention scrolls you borrowed. Or, if you used them, buy a couple of new ones for me. I think I'm going to need them soon. Janand Maulinie at the Mages Guild in the Foreign Quarter keeps them in stock.  
  
_        _Alvela Saram is the guard at the entrance; just tell her you're looking for me, and she'll let you in._  
  
_Your faithful friend,_  
 _Mehra_  
  
_PS: I left a couple of Levitate potions here for you, just in case. I couldn't remember if you knew the spell or not, so I drew a couple from stock._

 

            Adanji smirked, pocketing the potions the letter had mentioned. At least Mehra hadn’t been too subtle. The problem, of course, would be getting to her in the Ministry of Truth without being caught. She reached into her satchel, her claws brushing the invisibility potion Habasi had given her. When she’d asked for more information, Habasi had told her the potion created a sort of invisible field around the user, concealing even armor if it wasn’t too bulky, and should last an hour for most users. It could be useful in getting up and into the rock unseen, but she wasn’t sure how long it would take her to find Mehra once inside.

            Grunting, she burned the letter in a nearby candle and set off for the Mages guild. None of this would matter without those scrolls.

 

***

            She waited until after dark, when most citizens were comfortably in their homes and the only witnesses she need fear were the Ordinators. The sky was cloudy, obscuring the already thin moonlight, and if she was lucky that would be enough to cover her ascent to Baar Dau. She would save her invisibility potion for when she truly needed it.

            Glancing around the Temple grounds to ensure the coast was clear, she took a swig of a levitation potion Mehra had left for her, keeping  the other ready in case the first one should wear off too soon. She immediately felt the familiar sensation of a bubble in her chest, lifting her feet off the ground, and before she knew it she was uncomfortably high above the sea. If she fell from this distance, not even that water could save her, and if it did she would only freeze to death. She firmly kept her gaze on the rock floating above. As she’d feared, she had to take the second potion a little over half way through her journey, but soon she found herself gratefully landing on the wooden platform built into the stone.

            She hadn’t heard any shouts or cries of outrage on her way here, nor did she see any pursuit. That was the first obstacle successfully out of the way. She slunk along the walls, keeping her back pressed to them and an eye on the platform to ensure she wouldn’t make a fatal misstep. Eventually she felt stone turn to wood and found a doorknob.

            She breathed a quiet sigh of relief as soon as she got inside.

            The place looked like a mine, which made sense since its halls had been carved straight from the stone, and like a mine it had plenty of shadows. Still, there were a number of Ordinators on duty patrolling the corridors, alert for any sign of movement. She assumed it was to keep prisoners from escaping, but she couldn’t imagine why all the security was necessary. She imagined the prison’s location alone would be enough to dash most escape plans.

            With so many sentries, Adanji knew she shouldn’t take any chances. She huddled in a dark corner and downed her potion. It didn’t take long. Ice seemed to fill her veins and the very edges of her vision swam with shadows. She watched in amazement as her hands faded away, eventually disappearing altogether. Of course, they were still there—she could feel them—but they were completely transparent. She would have liked to linger and get a proper feel for the effect, but time was short. She set off, quiet as a mouse.

            Thankfully, the prison didn’t take nearly so long to find as she had feared it might. Simply by keeping to central passages, careful to stop and remain motionless when guards passed her by, she managed to reach her destination with half an hour to spare, if Habasi’s estimates had been accurate.

            The chamber was wide and yawning. Many of the prisoners were out in the open, secured only by manacles around their wrists. They were being watched closely by the Ordinators as they performed menial labor. Others were chained down on benches, forced to listen to a Tribunal priestess’ endless prattling. On and on she droned about the might and mercy of her gods, their endless love and devotion for all.

            There were only a few actual cells, and they were each little more than a meter in diameter, barely tall enough to stand in. As Adanji had yet to see Mehra anywhere, she could only guess the priestess was in one of those cells. She inched forward, careful not to let anyone run into her, and peered into the first cell she came across. Through the tiny hole she saw a bulky man curled up, trying his best to sleep.

            _Not Mehra._ She kept going. She wished she could free everyone from this terrible place, especially as the Tribunal propaganda continued to drone in her ears. She figured it would take only five minutes of it to drive someone over the edge. At the third cell she found her.

            The Dunmer was crouched against the opposite wall, her arms wrapped around her knees and her head down, her red hair hanging over her face. She looked unbearably skinny, like she hadn’t been fed in weeks. Rage flared in Adanji’s gut. The Tribunal had to know about this. They were ‘gods’ after all, or at least very powerful. They would know what their followers were doing. And they allowed it. Though she had witnessed the Temple’s corruption before, though she had heard many dark rumors, she was finally seeing just how deep their depravity ran. For the first time she could truly understand the Ashlanders’ hate for the false gods, and for the first time she felt inclined to cast them down—if not in Nerevar’s name, than in her own.

            She peered over her shoulder, inspecting every nook and cranny of the place for hidden eyes or ears that might spot Mehra’s door open. There were too many guards to tell. The only thing she could do was be quick and pray to Azura that she wasn’t caught. She knelt down, having to use sense of touch to find the keyhole with her pick, and closed her eyes to concentrate. She felt and listened. After two tries the lock fell away and she instantly opened the door, sliding in as quick as she was able.

            Mehra looked up sharply. “Who’s there?”

            The Dunmer’s question was drowned out by a shout outside her cell. Adanji wasn’t sure if she’d been caught or if another prisoner had angered his warden, but she didn’t want to find out. “Adanji. No time to talk. Take this.” She slipped one of the intervention scrolls out of her satchel, took Mehra’s hands and pressed it into them. Mehra flashed the empty space in front of her a grateful smile and without another word read her scroll, disappearing in a gout of purple mist. Adanji heard booted footsteps rushing toward the door. Warmth flooded her veins as the potion began to wear off. She whipped out her own scroll, opened it up.

            A shout called behind her. She turned. A gold-plated hand was reaching for her, inches from her face. She read the inscription. The Ordinator’s hand closed around her shoulder. Pain flared through her body as she was enveloped in purple flame and whirling darkness. She could feel fingers digging into her flesh. She landed hard on a stone floor and the air rushed from her lungs.

            Stars flashed before her vision and her head swam as she slowly gained her feet. When she looked around she nearly threw up; lying on the ground beside her was a disembodied arm, bleeding heavily from its mangled stump. She glanced wildly around, hoping no one had witnessed the incident, and saw, much to her relief, that she was standing alone on a terrace that was built high above the sea. Without further thought she picked up the arm and hurled it out into the ocean, hoping no one would be the wiser—at least not until she was very far away.

            As she turned to enter the building—Ebonheart’s Grand Council and Imperial Cult—she could make out Vivec’s dark form silhouetted against the sky to the east, the Ministy of Truth forming an ominous-looking black hole in the clouds. She peered around and Mehra was nowhere to be seen. Her pulse quickened as she wondered if Mehra had appeared somewhere else. How would she find her? How could she learn about the Dissident Priests without her? Could Mehra find a way to contact Adanji?

            _Calm down,_ she told herself, _and just think._ She continued on through the building, not even eliciting a single glance from the Imperial priests huddled at a shrine of Akatosh to pray, and found her way back outside. A bridge spanned the waters below and connected the castle to the rest of the settlement. As she crossed the threshold of the great stone walls, it was to see a city built entirely in the Imperial style. It felt almost like being back in Cyrodiil.

            She wandered the mostly empty streets, keeping an eye open for Mehra, and eventually came across an inn called The Six Fishes. It would make sense, she thought, for Mehra to at least pass through the place, and stepped inside.

            “You—Khajiit—you Amaya?” the Nord publican said as soon as he saw her.

            She blinked, then quickly recovered, “Yes, that is this one’s name.”

            “Good. Yer friend told me to keep an eye out fer gray Khajiit and to point yeh to a room if yeh showed up. Up the stairs, last door on the right. She’s already paid fer yeh.”

               Adanji nodded, thanked the man, and followed his directions. She had half-expected to see Mehra waiting for her, but saw no one. Under the pillow, however, was a note.

           

_Amaya,_

_I am sorry I had to leave you so quickly. I had business to attend to. But I will make it up to you, I promise! Let’s go fishing tomorrow at dawn. I’ve already hired a captain for us. Her name is Blatta Hateria. She has the smallest ship at the docks—the one with the blue sails._

_See you then!_

_-M_

 

            Well, there was nothing else for it. After her ordeal, she was frankly grateful that she had a comfortable place to just lie down and rest for a moment.

 

***

            The waterfront was utter chaos. Countless tents were set up and throngs of people of all races crowded around them. A line went up to each ship, all the way on deck, where she could hear people shouting at the captains even from where she stood.

            “What’s going on?” She asked a nearby guard. He was watching the crowd with weary, narrowed eyes.

            “You been living under a rock? It all started when the damned Ghost Fence went down.” That long? She was surprised she hadn’t seen the encampment even from her position on Ebonheart’s outskirts on her way to Tel Fyr. “People panicked. Started trying to get the hell out of Vvardenfell. Didn’t work, though, because the day all that mess started we got word from the mainland. Naval transport’s restricted to port towns on Vvardenfell. No ships to leave the island.

            “We’re under quarantine until further notice.” She couldn’t help but wonder how Caius planned on getting to Cyrodiil, but of course he probably had something worked out. The guard wiped sweat from his brow, nodding to the camp. “Wasn’t too bad at first, only a few refugees here and there. Then, couple of weeks back, it suddenly got crowded. Guard captain allowed it—give the people ‘protection.’ Now look at it. People are spooked—‘specially the locals. It’s been a damn mess trying to keep the peace. I’d run everyone off if it were up to me, and we had enough manpower, but we’re swamped enough as it is.”

            “Thanks for the information,” Adanji said, almost wishing she hadn’t asked when it looked like he was about to launch into a rant. Apparently it was a touchy subject.

            “Ugh, back to work then,” he grumbled as she picked her way through the mob. It took some careful maneuvering, and occasionally some pushing, but within half an hour Adanji found her way to the ship Mehra had mentioned in her letter. The Dunmer there looked exasperated.

            “For the hundredth time, this is a _fishing boat,_ ” she snapped at a Bosmer woman with three children huddled around her, “It’s too small to make the voyage to the mainland and even if it could, _I can’t take you!_ There’s a damn quarantine. Until they lift it, taking anyone off-island is a crime with a rather harsh punishment. I’m. Not. Taking. You. Now get out of my face!”

            The Bosmer’s youngest child began to bawl and the mother glared at Blatta, muttering a string of rather choice words and dragging her children away. As Adanji approached, Blatta rounded on her, her face purple. “No! For the last time, NO! I am NOT taking ANYone ANYwhere!!”

            “Not even fishing?” Adanji said, ignoring the elf’s rage. Honestly, her heart went out to the woman, at least as much as it did for the Bosmeri family. The situation was awful and no one could do a thing about it. “I thought this was a fishing vessel, after all.”

            Blatta relaxed visibly. “Oh, it’s you. Amaya. Right this way.”

            Adanji stepped on board. She almost had to shout to be heard above the uproar, ducking a piece of trash one of the refugees threw as Blatta pulled out of port. “Where’s our friend? Will she be along soon?”

            “She is already waiting for you,” Blatta said, hastily loosing the sails. “I’ve had the perfect spot in mind all week and I assure you, more fish are biting there than I could possibly count.”

            “Sounds perfect.” She ducked yet another projectile, this one clipping her shoulder, though it bounced uselessly off her armor. Mercifully, the wind quickly caught the sails and carried them out of range of the crowd’s thrown debris.

            Once well out of earshot, Blatta started talking freely, explaining where they were going and how Adanji would get inside. It was noon by the time they reached the island; a small, unassuming rock in the middle of many just like it. If Adanji hadn’t been told about it, she never would have guessed a building was there. Blatta pulled the ship up along the side of the island—there were no docks there—and dropped Adanji off.

            She wandered the dirt path along the southern shore until she came to the cluster of trees Blatta had mentioned, then turned directly north, walking until she reached the rock face at the center of the island. She could barely make out the groove along the edges of the stone, but she knew this had to be the place. All that remained was to wait.

            To pass the time, Adanji sat down and read over all the notes she had taken over the course of her journey—those that Caius or she hadn’t destroyed for their own protection—and tried to keep her mind focused on the task at hand, rather than letting it wander to the impossible journey the future might hold for her. If she felt herself losing her nerve, she firmly reminded herself that she had done the impossible by overcoming an incurable disease, and that little could possibly be as terrible as the pain she had suffered in the weeks before its cure.

           

            At exactly six o’clock PM the ground rumbled beneath her. She hastily stood, whirling around to see the rock shifting and sliding down into the dirt. It was slow, but when the peak came to rest at her feet, it revealed a door. Hesitantly, she pushed it open.


End file.
